Ashes to Ashes
by chaosshotgun
Summary: [Companion story to the Blood Cycle] The life of Ash, daughter of Oromis, from the day she is chosen to become a Rider until the day of the Fall. Told through her own eyes, read on and plunge into the tale of the young Rider who seeks to make a mark upon the world while learning more about love, hope, true strength, and confidence.
1. Inheritance

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Cycle, unfortunately.**

 **Hey guys! I'm back! Here's the promised Ash one-shot. It's not a one-shot anymore, though, and it's now a multi-chapter story that I will be uploading alongside Bloodwar next week, though I'm leaving this here as a teaser since I'm so excited to share it with you guys!**

* * *

 **Ashes to Ashes**

 **Chapter 1: Inheritance**

The cold early spring wind sears my lungs with every sharp breath I take. I run through the empty streets of Ilirea, terribly aware that I might not make it on time.

Beside me, I could hear Jotnar holding in his laughter.

My brother seems to think that waking up late is amusing when we could miss our chance to be chosen as Riders. Of course, there are many other Riders' offspring in the city to compete withs, and this is my brother's third Dragon Hatching Ceremony, but this day of all days is always special to those who attend.

If we were not related, I would have blackened those blue eyes of his. He grins back, as if reading my thoughts, and brushes away a curly lock of black hair. "Imagine a Rider elder's own children late for the ceremony! Would that not be amusing?" he insisted.

Maybe.

We reach the end of the Rider outpost and pass through the gates where two Riders stand guard with their huge dragons. They nod at us in recognition and we scramble through the massive, empty field where most members of the Illirean community are currently situated in. Callin the place crowded would be an understatement. There are roughly a hundred thousand people in Ilirea, both citizens and Riders.

At the head of the congregation are Vrael and Umaroth themselves, the white dragon and his white-clad Rider looking immaculate as always, looking well-rested despite traveling directly from Doru Araeba to witness the ceremony. They never miss it, despite being busy leading the Riders. Beside him is a golden dragon, a little smaller but no less intimidating. Sitting atop was a silver-haired elf.

Our father, Oromis, barely notices our arrival.

Though we've been living in Ilirea for our entire lives, we only met him two years ago – just enough time for him to know our names and acknowledge that we are, indeed, his children. I suppose there would be no point in him acknowledging our presence today.

Our mother, though, is another thing. The mighty Sigrid Twoblades, black-haired and gray-eyed, stands at the edge of the crowd with a disapproving look in her eyes mirrored by her black dragon, Dagoth. With her youthful Rider face, the look in her face is even more terrifying than it would if she looked her age.

If she did though, she would probably be a crone by now so I take that back.

We wave cheerfully, pretending that we don't notice anything wrong, and join the crowd of Riders' children who are the first to try hatching the eggs. We are few this year, as many of the others have been sent to other outposts to be educated, while others were chosen as Riders. Those whose siblings have been chosen now look so resentful, I wish it would never happen to Jotnar and me.

Silence falls as most of the other Rider and dragon pairs in the city join us, watching all children with interest. I feel my heart beat faster as they set the ornate pedestals at the head of the group. Murmurs ripple among us as they display seven dragon eggs – pearly white, smoky gray, mad pink, pale yellow, vivid orange, and blue as dark as the night sky. They are all beautiful in their own way, and I wish I would be chosen.

Vrael steps forward, a glint of joy and excitement in his eyes. "Greetings, people of Ellesmera," he begins, his voice high and clear. "Today, we celebrate and honor the pact made by our races."

I tune his speech out as Jotnar elbows me with a grin. "Makes you wonder if you're worthy of joining, eh?"

"But I want to," I whisper. "More than anything else. But you would make a better Rider than I, and we both know it."

I'm afraid that against all the other Riders' children, I would not be the best choice for a Rider. Even with the elven strength and speed that we inherited from our father, I am a mediocre fighter at best. Jotnar outclasses me in swordplay. My magic is good enough, I suppose, but I could barely do a mind probe, let alone protect myself from a mental attack. I do try my best, but it seems like it is all for naught.

Jotnar grins. "I do not have a dragon's determination, unlike you."

"Fruitless determination, I fear."

We turn back to Vrael as he raises his voice. "And now, we shall begin our annual ceremony. As tradition dictates, we shall begin with those born with the blood of Riders running through their veins – the living testimony that our pact has brought much harmony and understanding between our races, and among our own people."

We fall in line. In front of us are the humans ranging from ten years old to twenty. As the only two half-elves in known existence, I and Jotnar are next, ten-and-five and ten-and-seven, respectively. Behind us are the elves, aged twenty and beyond, their numbers overwhelming us. We do live in their land, after all. Wild dragons circle the sky to watch the event, even more numerous than last year.

"Jotnar, promise me that you will not regret any outcome that this day may bring," I whisper.

"I promise." He smiles consolingly and touches my shoulder. "Remember me when you fly off with your dragon."

"I should be saying that to you," I growl. My stomach churns forlornly, aware that I would never be a Rider.

The line begins to move, as the humans in front of us touch the eggs and pause before each, hoping that they would hatch. When thirteen-year-old Kifain touched the pink egg, he laughs in pure glee, waiting for the young hatchling to emerge while the rest of us watch with held breaths. I avert my eyes once the pink dragon makes contact with its new Rider's palm and a faint spark flashes. Kifain then picks up his dragon and joins the Riders, the smile on his face widening.

The line moves again, steadily shortening as no one else is chosen by a dragon. I exchange an uneasy glance with Jotnar. "If Kifain was chosen, I'm sure you will be, too," I tell him. "He's second only to you in swordsmanship."

Jotnar sighed. "I'm not sure that it is all about skill. You do remember Livia being chosen last year, aye?"

I nod. Livia was not yet capable of using magic when she was chosen, despite the fact that all the other Riders' offspring in the outpost had that gift. It is highly probable that she could use it now, as anyone gains the gift of magic when they are chosen by dragons.

Soon, it is my turn, and I move forward nervously. Vrael nods to encourage me, pointing to the nearest egg with a warm smile. I smile back, hoping that I do not make a fool of myself. I touch the white egg and feel nothing stir within. I pause for a few seconds before moving to the next one. None of the next eggs hatch, and by the time I move to the last – the deep blue one – I simply go through the motions.

I touch the last egg, and my heart leaps to my throat as I feel the infant dragon within stir suddenly. I move away so fast in surprise that Oromis shoots me a sharp look. The dragon egg suddenly shakes as cracks appear on its surface.

It dawns on me that I am going to be a Rider.

The hatchling dragon emerges from its egg and crawls to me, night-hued eyes watching me with curiosity and glee. As previous Riders have done, I extend my right hand and let the dragon's snout touch my palm.

I supress my gasp as a searing heat and tingling cold coursed through my arm simultaneously before washing through my entire body. I still have no idea how I kept a straight face through all of that. The pain finally recedes and I feel a new sensation – my mind opening up to my dragon, as my mother described. I could feel its wonder and amazement.

I am now a Rider.

"Come child, your brother and everyone else will also be trying their luck today," Oromis says, ushering me forward.

I give him my best cold stare as I take my place beside Kifain. We watch the next people to be tested, but it seems like no one else is chosen – not even Jotnar. I stare at him, and he grins back with a wave as Vrael announces that Kifain and I are departing for Doru Araeba tomorrow at dawn to join the other new apprentices.

Vrael leads the way to the White Tower – the seat of the Riders here in Ilirea. Despite being a Rider's daughter, I have only been inside once to meet Oromis during one of his annual inspections. It is a beautiful place made of marble and adorned with crystals of all colors. Riders stand at attention to meet us, some of them whispering as I pass. Many people in Ilirea regard my brother and I as curiosities as unions between elves and humans are rare, children even more so.

"I suppose we will quickly be apprenticed, since we have undergone basic training as Riders' children already," Kifain whispers. "Do you think your father will choose you? I have heard rumors that he will start taking in apprentices."

"We cannot count on that. He has not been a very good father." I shrug to ward off Kifain's questions. There would probably be enough time for that on the way to Vroengard.

We are given separate rooms, and my dragon quickly scrambles onto the bedpost, watching me with wary eyes. I could feel its thoughts trickling through our thread-thin connection. It was hungry.

As if bidden by this sensation, the door to my room opens and an elf servant enters, face twisted in disgust at the tray of raw meat that she was carrying. She sets it down beside my bed, bows to me, and slips out of the room without another word.

Living in a place where no one eats meat, seeing the tray feels odd – but then again, dragons are hunters so they surely must eat nothing but meat. My dragon scampers down the bed and eats the food in a few bites. I suppose the elder dragons will help it hunt and eat in the coming days. I sit down on the soft bed and sigh. I watch my dragon eat for a few minutes, trying to suffuse myself with the feeling of contentment emanating through our bond.

The door is thrown open and Jotnar strides in, a glint of joy in his eyes. "I knew it," he gushes before sitting beside me. "Ash, I knew that you would be chosen! Should I call you Argetlam now?"

"Stop that," I tell him, hitting his arm lightly. "I'm still your younger sister."

"Aye, that's true." He shakes his head. "I was not made to be a Rider. I have discussed my options with Mother and she gave me her blessing. I will be departing for Du Weldenvarden once you head to Vroengard."

He never told me that. I grab his arm. "What? Why? You haven't discussed this with me."

"Do I have to?" He's right. After all, we have our own lives and we are both free to live as we choose. "I will be joining the Painted Ones. I have received an invitation, according to Mother"

The Painted Ones are the best elven warriors who were not chosen by dragons. Many have tried to seek an invitation, but few are summoned to join them in Nadindel.

"Do you truly not wish to be bonded to a dragon?" I ask him sadly, watching my new partner finish its meal.

"I used to – but not anymore. It would still be the highest honor that can be bestowed to someone, but I want to live my own life, as I said. I will join the Painted Ones and fight alongside you should there be a need for it. I will try to keep in touch whenever I can. You are still my sister and I am still your brother." Jotnar wraps an arm around me. "Make a mark in this world for me."

It seems like there are so many changes brought upon us today.

* * *

 **Well, that's it for now. What do you guys think?**

 **To jog your memory, Jotnar was mentioned in Bloodlines, chapter 25. Kifain is one of the Forsworn who popped up in the last two chapters of Bloodlines too.**

 **Oromis does love his kids (as you can see in Bloodlines and Bloodforge) but he was pretty busy when his first kids were growing up and so wasn't really around. He sort of makes up for it once Ash starts her training, and once Jotnar becomes a Painted One.**

 **We'll be dropping by pre-Fall Vroengard next chapter, where Ash meets a potential love interest, a senior apprentice, and her first teacher.**

 **Read and review as always!**

 **PS: I received an ask the dragons question, but I didn't understand it that much so I couldn't answer. Sorry. :(**


	2. Turning Pages

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC's.**

 **Just a quick trivia, Ash's story spans roughly 130-ish years, from becoming a Rider to the Fall. And I'm aware that it will be a looooong story. Some things in the last few parts will be important to my AU plans for Bloodwar though, which is why I'll churn out a few chapters in this fic before I start Bloodwar.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Turning Pages**

Morning dawns gray and cold. Despite the thick, soft covers and the comfortable bed, I am anything but comfortable. This is not home, and in a few hours, I will be moving farther away from it. I rise and stand beside the window, where my dragon is perched, welcoming the new day like an ancient sentinel of the land.

Well, I suppose it is.

I hold out my hand to it and try to extend our flimsy link. I mostly succeed, but have no idea how to proceed. It turns to face me, head tilted curiously. Its emotions of trust and adoration overwhelm me, and I realize what I have to do. I picture it perchead on my shoulder, and it squeals, understanding me. It seems like dragons communicate through sensations and emotions before they learn how to speak. It scrambles up my arm and settles on my shoulder, humming happily.

I march out of my room to find Kifain and his dragon waiting for us. He still has a big smile on his face, and seems eager to gush about our great fortune. "Ah, you are awake! Rider Sigrid is waiting for us in the dining hall. We are to have our breakfast with the other Riders."

As promised, Mother and Dagoth are waiting for us, pride in their eyes. They lead us to our breakfast, where the other Riders of Ilirea congratulate and welcome us to their ranks.

Mother regards me warmly as I finish. "I wish I could accompany you to Doru Araeba. 'Tis a most wondrous place, with more Riders than Ilirea could ever have. Duty bids me to stay and see both my children depart today, alas."

"We will both see you again, Mother," I whisper, hoping my dragon does not sense my distress. I have lived all my life in Ilirea, with Mother, Dagoth, and Jotnar. In the foreseeable future, it will only be me and my dragon – Kifain and his own dragon too, I suppose, but we were mere acquaintances despite growing up in the same community. "I promise that we will visit you whenever duty allows."

It feels like no time at all when we are ushered out of the tower and into the field, where we join Oromis, Vrael, and their dragons. I am instructed to ride atop Glaedr with my father, which I grudgingly consent to. Kifain joins Umaroth and Vrael.

I secure the straps around my legs and let my dragon sit on my lap, wondering how long it will take for it to grow big enough for me to ride on. It peers up at me and squeaks in excitement as we finally take flight.

* * *

The flight to Doru Araeba is almost uneventful, except for my father's awkward attempts to congratulate us. Vrael and the two dragons did a better job. Glaedr even apologized for their lack of presence in my family's life.

Over the course of these three days, my dragon has grown even more, though still not big enough to fly on its own and keep up with its elders. Glaedr tells me that he is male, and would learn how to project speech with his mind soon.

Doru Araeba truly is wondrous. I've always thought that Ilirea with its crystal-adorned towers is beautiful, but it seems garish compared to the elegant marble spires and shining monuments that dotted Doru Araeba.

At the northern tip is the biggest and most beautiful tower of all – the Hall of Elders – which overlooked the rest of the city in the middle of a lovely sprawling garden and courtyard, like a miniature portion of an elven city. I recall visiting Ceris when I was seven years old.

The six other Rider elders await us, and they all bow as Umaroth lands. I hop down Glaedr's back, and they converge upon us. Kifain gleefully drinks in their congratulations, but I stand stiff and nervous, afraid that I would make a fool of myself.

We are escorted inside, where servants lead us through hall after hall. The six elders – now joined by the two who escorted us – follow inside, though they turn down a different hallway, leaving us novice Riders alone with our dragons and the two servants. I exchange looks with Kifain, who nods solemnly.

My dragon squirms out of my grip and decides to walk beside me as I take in the spacious, well-lit hallway. Fairths of different landscapes lined the left-hand side of the wall, all probably made by the best fairth-makers of the land.

I sense my dragon's concern, and I share my apprehension to it. I fear that no teacher would willingly take me in under their wing.

We are brought to a library, where a small group of novice Riders await us. Some of them had slightly larger dragons, though we all share the air of anxiousness. Kifain nods at me before departing to strike a conversation with a pair of humans.

Some of them stare curiously at me, a number of the elves with open astonishment on their faces. I avert my gaze and sit on one corner, expecting a number of questions once we all settle down. My dragon explores, chirping and humming excitedly as it mingles with the other dragons in the room. The librarians pay us no mind, though one of them gives me a brief stare that makes me nearly jump out of my skin.

He's a half-elf like my brother and me, with unruly hair the color of dark oak and eyes the shade of thick honey. He nods briefly and turns away.

I turn away too, wondering what that is all about. I lean back on my seat and observe the five other Riders who were in the library already before we arrived.

The first one my eyes latch to is one of the humans sitting with Kifain. He is tall and slender, with a perfectly-chiseled face that could put an elf's to shame. And he is probably our age too, which is unusual. Most humans do not join a Hatching Ceremony once they are not chosen at the age of ten. He flicks away fair hair from his stormy eyes and winks at me before turning back to Kifain.

The other human sitting with them was a diminuitive girl of around ten to twelve years old. She wears her dark hair in a stark braid, her dark eyes gleaming as she drinks in every tale that Kifain spins about life in Ilirea.

The other three Riders in the room are elves. One of them is leaning forward, elbows propped up on the table. His hair is a beautiful shade of gold which is tied back by a wreath of silver leaves. His glassy eyes watch the room with disinterest.

The red-haired elf on the nearby table seems to have reached her maturity before she was chosen by her dragon. She gives me a warm smile when I catch her attention, and it lights up her already lovely face. She leans in to whisper something to the last Rider in the room – a remarkably young elf with dark hair and brilliantly blue eyes.

Afraid to catch the wrong kind of attention, I look down on my table and simply concentrate on my dragon's eagerness to make friends with the others. Every now and then though, I alternate between sneaking glances at the half-elf librarian, and the pretty human boy. I catch the half-elf's attention twice and look away immediately.

The human boy approaches my table, and I am torn between turning away and standing my ground. He brushes his fair hair away from his face and grins. "Hello," he murmurs as he takes a seat across the table from me. "My name is Eoran."

"Ash," I tell him in a clipped voice that sounds different from mine. I feel the blood rushing to my face. I try to glance at the half-elf librarian again, but it seems like he disappeared from his spot.

"Kifain there told me that you are Oromis' daughter." He leans forward, eyes eager. "Why do you not join our table? We could get to know each other. It won't hurt to have some friendly faces when we start our training."

"It won't hurt," I agree. Being around him makes me nervous, though. "But I will have to take you up on your offer some other time. I want to be with myself for now. You know, I'm anxious about our future mentors."

Eoran nods in understanding. "Aren't we all?" he muses. "Very well. I'll talk to you again later."

He winks at me and rises to his feet, heading back to his human friends. My eyes stay fixed on his hindquarters until my dragon jolts me out of my odd thoughts by jumping on my table with a squeak. I pet its head, wondering when it will start speaking. Apparently it will name itself once it does. I pry our connection open. _You know,_ I begin, _I think I might be smitten._

It tilts its head and chirps, letting me feel its sympathy. Wonderful.

We sit in companionable silence while Eoran discusses something intensely with his companions. They all shoot me a glance, and Kifain even winks at me. I look down uncomfortably. I stay in place as minutes pass and blur into an hour, watching my dragon explore its new surroundings. One by one, librarians approach my fellow Riders and escort them among the shelves and out through different doors. I am finally left alone, wondering if it means that no mentor has decided to take me under their wing yet.

Eventually, I realize that the half-elf librarian is standing in front of me uncertainly. "You are Ash, am I correct?"

"I suppose we are the only half-elves in this library." I shrug, hoping that I don't offend him.

He finally breaks into a smile. It is tired and a little sad, but I like the way it lights a spark in his eyes. "I'm Tryndemiel, and yes, it seems like we're the only half-elves in Doru Araeba. Master Archivist Barthfer seeks your presence, and I am to escort you to him."

I let my dragon perch on my shoulder as I clamber to my feet, my heart pounding away angrily in my ribcage. I am afraid of this meeting. I have heard a lot of things about Barthfer from my mother, who worked for him briefly before being stationed in Petrovya. He was a mild-mannered human, but rarely sought company. He never even took in apprentices. It feels like this is not going to bode well for me and my dragon.

Tryndemiel's face is a mask of calm again as he waits for my to gather my belongings. We then set off past shelf after shelf. I couldn't help but look around for not even the Great Library of Ilirea contained so many volumes. My new companion glances at me, comprehension dawning on his face. "It is pretty overwhelming, yes. I've been studying here for five years, and I still get lost every now and then," he admits. "There are so many books here that are so fascinating, tearing your gaze away from the words sometimes gets too difficult."

"It must be interesting to work for Riders." I glance at the shiny titles on the different volumes, some of them in the common tongue and some in the ancient language.

He nods. "I mainly keep track of the night sky at night, documenting the stars' movements, and spend my days studying superstitions and legends about them. So many have been lost during the passing years, and we are trying to piece together fragments from books to have a glimpse of ancient human and elven cultures regarding the celestial lights. The night sky has always fascinated me. Besides, Barthfer pays me well for my job."

I remember my childhood, climbing up balconies with Jotnar to watch the stars. Sometimes Mother joined us to tell some stories she learned about them. I think Tryndemiel has an interesting job. "If my training permits, maybe you could tell me more about it some other day."

He smiles at me again, this time looking happier and definitely eager. "Of course! I've never let anyone else read my reports aside from Barthfer, but if you insist then maybe we could talk more about it soon."

We stop in front of a pair of oak doors adorned with copper vines and emerald leaves. My heart hammers wildly in my chest again as I wonder what Barthfer would like to discuss with me. What if he sends me away because no one would have me?

"Is Barthfer waiting behind these doors, then?" I ask, proud of myself for not stammering.

Tryndemiel nods, calm and composed once more. "If needed, I will be staying here to escort you to your room afterwards."

I nod back and steel myself as I throw the doors open. I stride into the small, cozy study where Barthfer is waiting behind his desk. I remember seeing him once, when I was little, and it seems like he hardly changed at all. That isn't a surprise, as human Riders acquire an ageless appearance once they reach the peak of their powers. It is not the ethereal beauty of elves and most half-elves, but it is sometimes hard to figure out whether they are twenty or forty or two hundred.

His face is pale and pointed, his hair dark and short. His equally dark eyes are still alert as always. Like my mother once told me, his appearance belies his gentle nature. Behind him is is pale yellow dragon, Gelfring, who watches us with curiosity in her eyes.

I bow like my mother taught me. "Barthfer-elda," I greet him.

"There is no need for formalities, child," he tells me with a wide smile. "I have always known that at least one of Sigrid's children will be chosen to join our ranks, and now that the day has come, I will finally take an apprentice."

All the breath is knocked out of my lungs as I realize that someone did consider me as a pupil despite my lack of talent. The sheer relief of this fact almost immediately begins to clash with my fear that I won't live up to his expectations, and my knees almost give out.

"Surely you must be aware that I do not have my brother and my mother's affinity for swordplay, nor my father's fabled gifts with magic," I tell him, unable to keep my voice from shaking.

"And surely you must be aware that the only thing blocking you from your potential is your lack of confidence," he shoots back. "I will be guiding you through tuatha du orothrim, an initial phase among Riders that you surely will not stay too long in. After all, you have been raised and taught in one of our outposts, and know many fighting techniques and spells that Riders from less-priviledged areas can only dreamo f until this day. It will be difficult to remove the block in your mind, but we will work on that. I have heard of you from Oromis himself and your mother's letters."

I bow my head, afraid to disagree with him again. "I do not wish to ruin the trust you have in my abilities, master. I shall do my best to live up to your expectations." I'm sure that it won't take me long to disappoint him.

He approaches me and holds out his hand, revealing a silver ring set with an opal. I am entranced by the fiery flecks dancing upon the black surface of the stone. "My gift to you," he tells me, "to let you know that you are more than you think you are, child."

It takes all my strength not to burst into tears. Here I am, meeting Barthfer for the first time in ten years, and he is more of a father to me already than Oromis will ever be. No one has placed so much trust in my abilities before aside from my mother and brother and for that, I am grateful.

Barthfer smiles warmly. "I heard that it is a long and exhausting journey from Ilirea to Doru Araeba, and you deserve your rest. We shall begin your tutelage tomorrow. I suspect Tryndemiel will be waiting outside to guide you to your rooms. Being the first half-elf that he's ever seen aside from himself, he seems to find you quite interesting."

I bow and thank him repeatedly until I go back to the hallway, where as promised, my new friend is waiting for me. Tryndemiel glances at me for a moment before looking away. "Follow me, Rider. I will escort you to your room before your new room mate returns from her training."

"And why is that?" I ask.

He flushes. "She makes me uncomfortable," he admits with a light chuckle. "Let's leave it at that."

I watch him walk away with a smile before I enter my new room, which was similar to the room I once shared with Jotnar. It is spacious, with beds occupying opposite walls, coupled with a study desk, cabinets, and a wardrobe. I start unpacking my meager possessions into the unoccupied spaces while my dragon explores the room.

I am half-done with my task when the door flies open and someone marches in – a human Rider with her golden hair bound back tightly. Her sharp green eyes lock onto me and her lips widen into a smile. "Hello there," she announces happily as she bounces onto her bed. Her dragon – a slim white one – peers into the room from one of the two massive balconies, fully-grown and taking the sight of me with unsettling eyes.

"Hello," I echo. "My name is Ash, and this is my unnamed dragon."

My dragon pads to its much larger kin, which sniffs it before it begins to growl playfully.

"I am Sevanna of Therinsford," my room mate announces. She seems to be a good four or five years older than me.

 _And I am Chelhamen,_ her dragon adds.

Before I could greet them properly, Sevanna directs me to sit beside her and fires away questions about my past. I answer most of them honestly, though I deflect her questions about my father. It feels like it is not my place to talk about my relation to a respected Elder yet.

By the time gongs sound throughout the tower to signal dinner, I have found out that Sevanna is a farmer's daughter and has never met her mother. I wonder if having her keep secrets would be wise. It seems like she has loose lips.

We reach a dining hall filled with long tables where our fellow apprentices mingle with each other. The dragons are led to a different area where the elder ones can teach their younger kin to hunt for their meals. Being separated from my dragon for the first time since it hatched for me feels odd, but I fight such thoughts away as I grab a tray of food from the cooks and join Sevanna on her table. Eoran soom turns up with his own tray, looking excited.

I tune out my new companions' chatter, though my eyes are firmly locked on Eoran. It seems like I am not the only one, as Sevanna and other nearby girls also gaze at him with sickening smiles on their faces.

I look away and observe the other people in the room while I finish my bread and fruit. A group of librarians and scholars – apparently they are garbed similarly according to Sevanna – enter the dining hall. One of them is Tryndemiel, who glances at me hesitantly before joining his companions.

A young elf joins us, harp in hand. He doesn't seem to be a Rider, since he has no gedwey ignasia on his palm. His fiery hair is held back by a band of silver and sunstones, his gray eyes gazing at us in excitement. "New Riders?" he exclaims.

"That they are," Sevanna agrees with a grin. She introduces us to the elf – Fayille of House Svarthall – who is one of the bards who frequently provide music to the tower.

"You seem too young to be a bard," I note with curiosity.

"I truly am," he agrees with a smile. "I know songs and play them, but what I wish to do is to write a song of love that will make even the hardest of hearts truly weep with either joy or sadness. I hope that your order will provide me with such inspiration."

I smile, aware of the challenge he is taking upon himself. Few Riders fall in love, and none of these lovers, I believe, have stories that would make such a song possible.

* * *

 **So, I'm back with a vengeance!**

 **First things first: Galbatorix will not appear for a long, long time, as he becomes a Rider 30-40 years before the Fall in this AU. But I almost did throw him in. :3** **If Tryndemiel's name sounds familiar, that's because you might have encountered him in Bloodforge, chapter 7.** **And yes, Ash's dragon is named Brand. Oh, Fayille is actually the future father of Randarion from Bloodlines.**

 **So I hope I satisfied your expectations of the potential love interest, Ash's first teacher, and a senior Rider.**

 **Eoran and Tryndemiel are partly based on two people I personally know. And one of them is my own best friend. xD  
**

 **PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: THIS WILL EVENTUALLY FOCUS ON A LOVE STORY AS I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE ONE WITH OC'S. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

 **Anyway, read and review, as always!**


	3. The Stargazer's Scrolls

**Disclaimer: I do not own the IC.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Stargazer's Scrolls**

"That's it, Ash. Open your mind to your surroundings."

I smile and expand my thoughts, trying to imitate the connection I have with my dragon for every living thing surrounding me. I sense Master Barthfer's guarded mind, along with his dragon Gelfring's. I sense the birds nesting in a nearby tree, and some fellow apprentices walking nearby. It is not as perfect as my link to my dragon, nor as good as what my new masters would expect of me, but I am starting to manage.

It has been three weeks since I arrived in Doru Araeba, and I am starting to get used to my daily routine. I study history, geography, and languages in the morning, practice swordplay in the early afternoon, quickly followed by magic. My dragon and I eat lunch with our masters, while breakfast and dinner are both spent in the communal dining hall, where I am usually joined by Eoran and Sevanna. Our dragons are already hunting with their seniors, which I find adorable.

I've seen Tryndemiel a few times, but he never approaches me again, which is quite sad. He's the only half-elf I know aside from my brother, and he seems nice.

I begin learning more not only about what it is to be dragon and Rider, but also learn more about my new friends.

Dinner that night is a noisy affair, as the coronation of a new human king is going to happen in two weeks. Many elves speculate about him, while the humans fill them in with news they received from their families.

Sevanna leans closely,raising an eyebrow. "My father's a miller, so no, you can't ask me about King Edarios," she announces with a flourish of her cloak.

"I wasn't going to," I tell her, sipping my tea. I savor the taste of blueberries before carrying on. "I've never met him either. My mother does not deal with politics. There are other Riders to focus on it. She's more of a warrior."

"Being named Sigrid Twoblades does hint at that, does it not?" Eoran announces, joining us and sitting beside me.

I pray to any god that might exist that I do not blush or anything of that sort.

"My father is a knight in Gil'ead. They've met briefly two years ago," he continues, paying no mind to my awkwardness. He smiles as he reminisces. "I've seen him during a parade, and he truly is intimidating. I heard that he actually learned swordplay from a Rider."

"Aye, that would be master Aethella." Sevanna puffs up her ample chest with pride. She flicks her braid and grins. "She is quite a swordswoman, and I wish to learn as much as I could with her before tuatha du orothrim ends."

Eoran raises an eyebrow and glances at me. "Well, I'm sure that someone raised by Riders here can outduel you!"

I shake my head as they both stare at me. "Of c-course not." I hate stammering, but it seems like I've been doing it more in the past few weeks than the rest of my life combined. "I-I'm no fighter. I can't even deflect blows without seriously injuring myself and other people!"

Eoran and Sevanna exchange glances, and the senior Rider apprentice stares at me with a slight frown. "You know, I think the Master Archivist is right. You're crippled by your lack of confidence." She grins widely, and it scares me. No one should be allowed to grin like that. "We'll find a way to chase confidence into you!"

Eoran laughs and leans against me. "We'll find a way to make you confident enough to shine, my friend."

I glare at him and sigh. "You should meet my brother. He's definitely the best in everything."

"Because you believe that he is," he argues. "Look, once you start your lessons tomorrow, just believe that you can do everything perfectly and see the difference it makes."

Sevanna nods sagely. "You know, all I've learned in Therinsford is how to become a good wife. I did not even know how to read or do more with my numbers aside from counting before I became a Rider. You've been educated in Ilirea. It's time you use your education to your advantage and show those who did not believe in you that you are better than everyone thought you were."

Eoran flushes as he stares at me. "She's right, and you know it."

Luckily, the conversation shifts to our studies. Sevanna bemoans the bruises in her backside after an intense sparring session with another apprentice, earning our snickers in the process.

I finish my dinner and shake my head. "Elves are terrible sparring partners," I admit with a groan. "They don't know their own strength."

"And what about half-elves?" Eoran presses on.

"We are almost as strong and as fast as elves," I admit. "But mature Riders are the same."

"So we won't always be outmatched?" Sevanna's eyes glitter in excitement. "Why hasn't anyone informed me of that yet?"

I shrug. "Oh, I don't know. But if it is not common knowledge here, please do not tell anyone else. I beg you. I don't want a teacher to flay me."

"Of course they won't flay you," Eoran points out. "You're too pretty."

I feel my face burn a bright red as Sevanna chokes on her tea.

By the time we part ways for a few hours of peace before sleep, I head to the library with a few scrolls that Master Barthfer asked me to read during my free time. He didn't give me a deadline, but I'm not the kind of person who would put off a task until another day.

My thoughts stray to Eoran's energetic farewell as he departs to meet a few acquaintances in a socialization hall, and I wonder how I managed to befriend someone as friendly and handsome as him. During my stay here in Doru Araeba, I have already been accosted by many young Riders who wanted to know more about him. His words about my confidence still ring in my head. Not only is he kind and friendly, he also trusts in me. My arrival in Doru Araeba marks the first time that I've met people who trust in my nonexistent abilities aside from my family – Master Barthfer, Sevanna, and Eoran.

I feel a sense of elation from my dragon, who sends me an image of it closing in for a kill. It is still busy training and hunting with some senior dragons. It is not the harmless hatching it was before, though. Its shoulders are now equal to mine, and I should be able to fly with it in a fortnight or so. Sadly, it still does not speak, nor has it named itself yet.

I barely started reading about the arrival of the elves from the fable land of Alalea when someone sits across the table from me. It takes me a moment to realize that it's Tryndemiel, an excited gleam in his eyes. "Hello," he begins shyly.

"Hello," I echo back, wondering what this is all about. I focus on his eyes, and appreciate their warm honey shade. "We haven't talked since you showed me your room."

"Sevanna sometimes makes me uncomfortable," he admits. "And with that pretty Rider boy, I think you wouldn't want me around."

"He is pretty," I agree before realizing what I've just said. I turn away and pretend to ignore Tryndemiel's knowing smirk. It takes me a second to continue. "Why won't I want you around, though? You have been kind to me."

"Kind is too strong a word," he muses. "So, Ash Svit-kona, I believe I promised to let you know more about my study – especially since you are now apprenticed to my actual employer."

I smile widely, remembering him mentioning his studies. "You've been studying the night sky, right? Oh, I really would love to see what you've learned."

He grins at me. "You really did mean it, then?" He leans forward eagerly, a spark of glee in his eyes. "I haven't shown some of them to Barthfer yet, I think I have to make some more corrections and revisions before I compile the new scrolls. Are you sure you'd like to see them?"

I nod in excitement. The night sky has always fascinated me, and now I'm actually going to learn more about it. I'm no expert and no scholar, but hearing what Tryndemiel has learned would certainly stay with me. "You don't know how interested I am again now that you've reminded me!"

He chuckles and stands. "Then follow me, Lady Rider. I shall show you my lair."

I do as he says, and we walk depart the library, my arms laden with the scrolls that I should be reading but decide not to. We head into a hallway that I've never been to before, apparently serving as the quarters and study rooms for the scholars who work in the tower.

We enter a small study which is a little too cramped. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, except the space alotted for the massive glass windows leading to the standard balcony. Charts, books,maps and the like are unfurled on the cluttered table, a bottle of ink threatening to fall over the edge.

I immediately take a liking to it and without my companion's bidding, I step forward and examine the different things on the table – of course, careful not to touch anything. Unfinished drawings of the night sky greet me, their beautiful precision capturing my attention. Hastily written songs or poems were also scrawled on some scrap pieces of paper, some words seemingly jumping out to make me look.

"It's not really the best one in here," Tryndemiel suddenly says, making me nearly jump out of my skin. "It is awfully cramped and cluttered, as you can see, but it was the only way I could get a study without sharing with other mad scholars. No one else seems to like it, but to be honest, I do."

"It's cozy," I admit. I still cannot tear my eyes away from the drawings – especially those that seemed to be painstakingly painted in precise detail. "And these are lovely."

He smiles while pulling out a scroll from a shelf. It contained more texts in his untidy, hurried scrawl – songs about Alalea, where elves are reportedly from. It contains something about the people building a bridge of stars to Alagaesia. I am sure it is all metaphorical, but it is the most beautiful thing I have read of. And the most surprising thing is that it was written by our great founder, Eragon.

"We have been studying the stars, their movements, the reason why their were named as they are by humans and elves alike. We want to separate fact from fiction, see the way that our ancestors lived through the tales they wrought, and the skies we still share with them." Tryndemiel motioned to his table. "It may take many human lifetimes for me to find even just a small grain of truth, but I will persevere until we can share this knowledge to all who seek. Music, art, literature – we will sift through all of it, like searching grains of sand for one miniscule jewel."

What he is telling me is sparking my childhood fascination. I want to learn about this, too. "Maybe I could help you at times – when my studies permit,"I tell him. In my mind's eye, I could see through my dragon's eyes again, the night sky vivid and beautiful in its young mind. "Despite the Riders claiming that they hold all knowledge, I think therei s so much more that we do not understand."

"That is what the scholars of Doru Araeba – some Riders, some civilans – are for. To quench our neverending thirst of knowledge."

And I think I have found what I wish to do with my life once I finish my training.

We spend the night talking about legends and songs from the land of elves. Some of them do not make sense, and a great number are fragmented by the passage of time that ensued before their people decided to preserve them. I drink in every word he says, entranced by the depictions of Alalea – which may be purely embellished, but still enthralling.

I haven't realized that it was way past the time I should be sleeping until Tryndemiel notes it. He looks up from a series of journals discovered in Ellesmera, his eyes tired but still bright. "You have one more day of training left before your rest day! You should have gone to bed two hours ago," he said in terror. "Barthfer will kill me."

"No, he won't. You were most informative," I assure him with a grin. "Thank you so much for showing me all of this."

He smiles back. "Do you want me to accompany you back to your room, then?"

"That is most kind of you."

"Kind is too strong a word," he insists.

He helps me stumble back to his bedroom, which is still predictably empty. Sevanna spends many nights carousing with her senior apprentice friends. I don't really mind, as she has been most kind to me, but I sometimes wonder how much her lack of sleep and study time affects her training. It's not really my place to pry, though.

We stop by the door and I turn back to Tryndemiel. "Thank you so much for tonight," I begin. "I want to help you, and I want to learn more, too. Maybe…"

"Yes, we can do this anytime that you are not busy. Like the day after tomorrow, maybe?" He grins, tired and sad once more like the day I first met him, and I wonder what pains him. "You are a very attentive pupil."

I smile. "And you are a most captivating teacher," I tell him.

"Well…" he hesitates before stepping back. "Good night. I will be seeing you around."

"Good night," I echo, watching him walk away.

I find my dragon waiting for me. Until now, I can't help but appreciate the speed in which it is growing. It left me today with its height about equal to my shoulders, and now it gazes at me with deep blue eyes that seem infinitely wiser than they should at this point. I don't understand what is happening, but I am feeling something shifting between my dragon and me.

 _Ash,_ a deep voice booms through my mind.

I stare at it, feeling my eyes widen. _You can speak! And you're a he?_

 _I am, and I can._ He pads softly towards me, his claws clicking on the marble floor. Thankfully he is not yet large enough to consume so much space in the room. _I am Brand. You and I, we shall make our mark upon this land._

I feel his snout touch my palm, right where my gedwey ignasia is, and I feel a small fire tingling on the point of contact. A great sense of elation suddenly floods through me as I feel our connection widen slowly from a steady trickle.

I am Ash, he is Brand. We are one.

* * *

 **This chapter is brought to you by a shitload of cough medicines and throat lozenges. Plus an angrily ringing phone that I can't answer because I have no voice and my best friend is pissed because he can't drag me into a night of debauchery. xD**

 **Another brief timeskip! I suppose it can't be avoided since we're covering more than a century here, eh?**

 **I'm still not sure whether Eoran or Tryndemiel will be endgame. They're both lovely, though Eoran's foregone fate might be a bit more gut-wrenching, I think. I hope we've also got some time to delve into the characters' backstories. I love Sevanna too, plus Fayille from Chapter 2? He might appear next chapter if the current draft goes unchanged.**

 **I'll try to avoid sappiness, as that's what also blew up my brain when I read parts of Heroes of Olympus.**

 **Yes, I have heard a good title for my fic series and ran away with it! Nyahahaha!**

 **Ever since the Riders first met Ash in Bloodlines, I've always pictured her as a scholarly type. She has a lot of things in common with her dad than she initially believes. And it is my headcanon that Oromis was much more of a badass warrior-mage type before he was crippled.**

 **Rider lessons will be mostly glossed over unless necessary, as we've dealt with those already in the Blood Cycle. We'll be seeing more stuff outside the tower next chapter too, because Doru Araeba in all its glory needs to be seen!**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	4. Tethered by the Sea

**Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle unfortunately does not belong to me, or else you actually are reading it right now.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Tethered by the Sea**

A full month passes in a blur. I start getting used to the routine that life in Doru Araeba presents. I still eat breakfast and dinner with Sevanna and Eoran, sometimes joined by Fayille. Speaking of Fayille, I learned that he was actually a great help to Tryndemiel's research. This odd elf bard knows many ancient songs that are apparently from Alalea, though none of us could really be sure.

Brand and I still study with Master Barthfer and Gelfring. I am starting to hone my mental abilities, learning to probe and protect. My defenses are still flimsy, my mind probe weak, but I am starting to improve. After all, I have years of training ahead, and I've only whittled away a month and a half of it.

It seems like Tryndemiel has struck an agreement with my teachers, and I am now instructed to accompany him on his studies every other free night, and on any rest day that I may feel like it. I am not complaining. Everything that he is explaining to me gets more and more interesting as time goes by.

Spring is in full bloom by now, and the smell of the garden flowers coax me out of my sleep on a lovely morning. It takes me a while to take in my surroundings and realize that it is a rest day. Surprisingly, Sevanna and Chelhamen are not around. Brand is curled up on his cushion at the foot of my bed, one eye opening lazily to peer at me. _It is a most interesting morning,_ he muses.

I nod. _It is._ I get to my feet and complete my morning ablutions, barely making it in time when the breakfast gong begins to sound.

I exchange glances with Brand. _I suppose you want to go hunting._

 _Larsahin has issued a challenge, and so I accepted,_ Brand replies. Larsahin is Eoran's dragon, and he is one of the most competitive dragons I've ever known. He seems to view Brand as a rival.

I roll my eyes at him as we walk down the corridor side by side. Servants and other staff greet us as we pass, and we greet them back. _Sometimes I wonder why you even compete with him._

 _It is a thing of dragons,_ is the only reply I can coax out of him.

We part ways at the entrance to the dining hall and I make my way in alone. Now that our bond is steadily growing stronger, it feels so difficult for us to be physically parted for an extended period of time. I inhale and exhale thrice before gathering my food and heading for our usual spot, which is occupied by Fayille. He seems to be distracted, strumming his lute idly with his food ignored.

I begin eating, but I keep my eyes on him. He peers at me when he finally realizes that he actually has company. "Ah, Ash," he begins in his usual dramatic tone. "Eoran bade me to tell you to hurry with your food. It seems like you promised to practice your magic with him."

I remember promising something of that sort earlier this week, and I nod. I'm not that much better at him in spellcasting, but I suppose my knowledge of the ancient language helps.

"You should come with us," I tell him. "You've been thinking of a good song. Maybe we could help you get some ideas."

He grins. "Very well. Maybe I could teach you a little about magic, too."

We finish our meals and head out of the dining hall, oblivious to the stares directed our way. The news of me being Oromis' daughter has spread fast, though he has not talked to me since my arrival here.

By the time we reach the gardens, Brand joins us, his steadily growing form casting a shadow over us. He is still as beautiful as the night sky, and he relishes in the fact that I am in awe. I smile at him and he lets me share in his joy and excitement over the new day.

Eoran waits at the entrance to the tower gardens, dressed for a day out. He beams as we approach, and I feel my stomach flip. I smile back, and hope it doesn't look like a pained grimace. I sense Brand's amusement and I shoot him a glare. A loud flapping of wings signal Larsahin's arrival, and for a while, no one speaks.

Luckily Fayille is with us, and he breaks the silence. "I believe the two of you are planning to practice your spellcasting?" he begins.

Eoran blinks and nods. He gives us a questioning look. "Well, yes. You're an elf, maybe you could give us some pointers?"

"That is the general idea that Ash has presented me with. But where are we off to? If you want to practice outside of the tower, we have limited space in the city."

I clear my throat, an idea running through my head. "What about by the eastern beach? It has enough space for us, and I would not mind bathing afterward."

They both agree, and we begin to head out of the city. As it is a lovely spring morning, the flowers are in bloom all over Doru Araeba, infusing the city with varied scents. The streets are awash with vivis color and the sounds of a bustling crowd. Hawkers shout their wares, and I stop by a few shops to buy some bread and fruit for trip. Fayille assures us that he will be able to procure some water should we get thirsty.

I can't wait to see it while flying with Brand, and he assures me that our first flight will be taking place very soon. We move with the small crowd headed for the eastern gate, which leads to the beach and the docks on its southern tip. Few Riders spot us and give us a wave. We wave back and one of the dragons – a magnificent blue specimen – descends from his position to have a better look at us.

"Ah, apprentices!" The Rider peers from her dragon's back and beams at us. "Planning a nice day at the beach with a bard?"

"Yes, Helga-elda," Eoran all but shouts in excitement. "We're going to try practicing with our magic!"

Helga nods in understanding. "We see many apprentices finding spots outside the city for such studies," she agrees. "I will be by the docks all day. If you are still around once my schedule permits, maybe Iormungr and I may share some of our knowledge with you young ones."

She offers to give us a ride on dragonback, and we do not refuse. The sensation is still as wonderful as it was whenever Mother and Dagoth let me fly with them. As Iormungr is a particularly large specimen, we all fit comfortably behind Helga, who points out some interesting things about the landscape.

We part ways at the beach, as she heads further south to the docks. It is a warm spring morning, making the cool sea breeze doubly invigorating. I close my eyes for a moment, simply savoring the sound of the azure waves crashing against the sandy shore.

 _You came from across the sea, did you not?_ Brand asks. _I was very little when we first arrived here. I remember very few details._

I nod. _Yes. Sometimes it is hard to believe that you're less than two months old._

Fayille clears his throat. "I was under the impression that you wished to hone your abilities with magic," he begins, setting his lute down beside a rock.

"Yes, that is the plan." Eoran rubs his arms uncomfortably, eyes on the sea.

Our bard friend heads to the edge of the beach, the water lightly touching the tips of his blue shoes. He extends his left hand. "Adurna," he all but whispers, summoning a clear orb of water from the sea. The orb floats over his palm, as if directed by his spell. "I am sure you are familiar with the word 'letta,' am I correct? Good. Let's play a game."

"A game?" I ask. "How will that help us learn magic?"

"It teaches you self control." He shrugs. "It's how my father taught me. Now, let's pass this around."

Unbidden, he tosses the orb of water right at me. I thrust my hand forward in surprise and gasp out "Letta!" I am just in time, as the orb almost hits me right in the nose. I direct my magic shakily, throwing it right back at Fayille.

He scowls and redirects to Eoran, who is struck right in the chest. The orb splashes on his clothes like regular water.

"That is not fair," my fellow Rider complains. We exchange glances, and I feel my stomach flip once more.

I shrug. "There's definitely some room for practice," I tell him, and he smiles again.

We continue with the exercise until midday, were we eat our lunch by the sea. Eoran pokes at the damp sand with a stick he found somewhere, eyes fixed on the horizon. "It is amazing to think that just two months ago, I was running errands around Gil'ead."

"Being chosen to become a Rider truly is amazing," I agree. I still wonder why Jotnar wasn't chosen, and why he didn't want to be one, though. "I just wish my mother would visit. I understand that she has many responsibilities, though."

"What about your father?" Fayille asks. "It is still amazing, whenever I think about the fact that you are the wise Oromis' daughter."

"As the wise man that he is, I wish he had enough wisdom to actually be a good father," I blurt out bitterly. "He has acknowledged us, but mostly stayed out of our life. It isn't like we needed him to survive, but it still is not fair."

Eoran smiles. "Life rarely is fair."

By the time the sun begins to set, Helga and Iormungr return – but they are accompanied by Oromis and Glaedr. I stop breathing as I see the gold dragon land smoothly a short distance from us. Iormungr follows suit, and Helga leaps down his back with an uncomfortable wince.

Oromis follows with a placid smile on his face. "Good afternoon," he greets us.

Eoran bows, a nervous look flashing in his eyes. "Good afternoon, Elder," he yelps, quickly echoed by Fayille.

I stay as I am, head heald high. My father does not find it odd, and instead turns to me. "Daughter, I wish to talk to you privately. There are matters that we must discuss. Your friends will be accompanied back to the city by Helga."

"Very well," I tell him. I did want my father to talk to me, didn't I? Well, now I'm getting it, and I can finally confront him.

We are eventually left alone with our dragons. We stare at each other, and I try to look for any resemblance I may have with him. I've never had much time to examine him this way before. I feel my fists clenching, nails digging into my palm. He takes in the sight of me, as if he has never truly seen me until this day.

"You have grown far more than your mother or I expected," he muses. "You and your brother both."

"And it is safe to say that we had no help from you in that matter."

"That is true." With a quick but graceful movement, he sinks to his knees, his forehead touching the ground in a pose of supplication. "Will you forgive me? I am aware of all the wrongs I have wrought upon your mother, your brother, and you. I know it was most callous, but I had to make sure that you were safe in Ilirea."

"Do you truly believe that it would be easy for us to forgive you? Even Mother was unhappy. She kept telling us that it was all for our sake, but I could see her eyes, Elder. You have hurt her." I snort. "Our safety? What would put us in danger, living among Riders as we were?"

He stares at me, and I see the ancient glint of his suddenly tired eyes. "Politics is never pleasant, even among Riders."

I suppose the children of someone in a position of power could be used against their parent in many ways. One doesn't even need to threaten their lives, if they have appropriately manipulative skills. Still, that does not excuse his actions, and I tell him so. "If you think it would be easy to forgive you, believe me, it won't be," I add.

"Then I will work hard to earn it from all of you. We are family, members of House Thranduin – even your mother, who is still my acknowledged mate." He stares at me calmly, placidly, and I wonder just what he truly is thinking.

"If that is your wish, then you have much to work for," I tell him coldly. Forgiveness will never be easy, but if he is willing to try then by all means, who am I to stop him?

He himself escorts us home with Glaedr, though none of us speak. I wonder if there is another reason for Oromis seeking our forgiveness – and if it is actually a good reason. I am still angry, of course, as he caused us fifteen years of trouble, but I wonder if I should actually find it in me already to forgive him. I could feel that Brand wants to talk to me, but I ignore him, letting our connection trickle down to a small thread.

We fall asleep that way, my mind still abuzz by the sudden turn of events and Brand keeping his distance nervously.

By the time I wake up the next day – the second rest day – I find Tryndemiel peering at me with arms crossed, seated at the very edge of my bed with a small frown. Sevanna is giggling from her own bed, looking wonderful despite her touseled hair and crumpled clothes.

"What's happening?" I groan, sitting up.

 _He has been watching you since dawn,_ Brand supplied.

I stare at Tryndemiel, who stares back calmly. "You are quite disturbing," I tell him.

"I was wondering what happened to you when you did not turn up in my study last night. I was actually worried, believe it or not," he replies with a shrug. "I did not know if something was wrong, and your dragon here told me that you were quite troubled yesterday."

"Troubled? Hah." I rub my forehead, feeling stupid for forgetting my meeting with him. "Things happened yesterday, and I was so upset that I forgot. I'm sorry."

Sevanna makes a face. "Please do not tell me that you have rejected Eoran's advances for the lovely scholar here," she purrs.

Just hearing Eoran's name makes me feel odd despite my current state. I shake my head and fight back the weak laughter bubbling up in me.

By the time the three of us walk together to breakfast and find Eoran with Fayille, I was feeling much better.

* * *

 **Just a quick chapter, and unfortunately it seems like the scene with Oromis is lacking something. Ugh.**

 **Yeah, I'm thinking that this might end up devolving into a love triangle, but I want to hear you guys out regarding who you think will emerge victorious before the Fall.**

 **We will be seeing Ash's training with Barthfer next chapter! Because a bit of Rider wisdom is always welcome, eh? :3**

 **Stars have fascinated me since I was around twelve or thirteen. We spent quite some time studying them during our freshman year, and even then I felt like gazing into infinity and thinking that there should be so much more out there when I look at the night sky. Glad to see people who share the same interest and fascination!**

 **Read and review as always, guys!**


	5. Slow and Steady

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC's and the plot.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Slow and Steady**

The smell of blooms lull me into calmness as I sit cross-legged on the grassy plains outside of the city. The soft breeze caresses my face as I try to open up my mind to the different creatures around me. It is starting to get easier. I am still not the best at it – still not what would have been expected of me back home in Ilirea – but I am on my way to that. I keep my mind clear of the excitement that the following day – a rest day – might bring, and focus on the task at hand.

I tune out everything but my surroundings – the small creatures running around, the silent growth of the plant life, my master's well-guarded mind.

We eat lunch under a tree, beside a small gugrgling spring. Master Barthfer divides the food neatly and pours tea as the dragons depart to hunt. He regardss me as we eat with those ancient, all-knowing eyes. "You and your dragon are learning what it is like to be one. This means you are ready for your first flight, is a rite of passage for all Rider and dragon pairs, and an important one at that. Some pairs earn it as soon as their dragons are strong enough to carry their Rider's weight, while others earn it years after the hatching. And I am sure that you're quite aware of the fact that you and Brand are close to yours."

"Truly?" I ask, feeling Brand echoing my excitement as Gelfring imparts the same information to him. "We are close to earning our first flight?"

Master Barthfer nods. "Yes. As a matter of fact, you shall experience it after our lesson today concludes," he says. My heart soars in anticipation, and I almost drop my cup. He smiles warmly. "I see your mother more and more in you each day."

"I am betting that she was a wonderful swordswoman," I tell him.

He laughs. "Yes. She was. And she was actually quite violent as a pupil. She couldn't wait to learn swordplay, and nearly cut off a fellow novice's nose. I see you more as a scholar, like your sire, but that does not mean that you will forsake your other studies."

By the time we return to Doru Araeba, I could almost taste the excitement in my tongue. I will finally by sharing the sky with Brand. I am presented with two saddles – one for comfort, and another for combat. I choose the former and a servant sends the latter to my room. I saddle Brand the way I was trained to weeks ago, and he flexes his powerful shoulders to tell me that he is comfortable.

 _The first flight is important, as you learn more about being one with the partner-of-your-mind-and-heart,_ explains Master Gelfring.

I nod in excitement, doing my best not to hop onto the saddle. I try to look dignified when I finally settle into my position, but I am breathing fast and heart, anticipating the flight. I've flown on dragonback many times before, but this is different. Far, far different.

Master Barthfer smiles and lays his hand on Brand's hindleg. "Learn from each other, and learn about the world together."

They step back and Brand flexes his wings. I feel the muscles testing their capability to carry my weight. I feel his joy at finally sharing the skies with me – just the two of us as it should be. The wind whips my face, but I do not mind. I let out a loud yell of joy as we circle the tower once, twice, thrice. I catch our masters watching us and wave to them. Brand roars and we fly away from the tower. I scream in glee and wrap my arms around his neck.

 _Would you like to see what flight truly is for a dragon?_ He slows down over a the marketplace, and I could feel his unbridled joy.

 _Yes. Yes!_ Why in the world would I refuse?

He roars again in approval, and before I realize what is happening, it seems like I am jolted out of my own body.

We flex our wings together, feel the rush of the wind on their soft membranes. We twist our bodies to change direction, heading for the mountains. We look around to get a good look at the city as the sun begins to set, most colors muted except for the blues. We are the lords of the sky, and together, nothing will stop us.

As we glance back, I realize that we are gazing at my body, a glazed look in my true eyes, face pale, hands gripping the saddle straps tightly. _Are you afraid, then?_ Brand asks.

 _Of course not,_ I murmur. _For I am with you._

 _Good. Good. Now where do you want to go?_

We look around, the sights and sounds of the city below us starting to become less tempting. _Take me somewhere away from Doru Araeba. Just for a while,_ I beg him.

 _Very well._ Brand seems to understand. We flex our wings and swing our tails, creating a current of air bringing us south.

We savor the feel of the rushing wind against our rustling, jewel-bright scales. The world is beautiful, but it will not be the same without the partner-of-our-mind-and-heart. I am Brand's Rider, and he is my dragon. We are one.

We pass through the woods, with the mountains to our right and our south. We eventually alight on an unsullied beach at the southern tip of the island, accessible only through dragonback or days of trekking through the mountains. We rest on a mountain cliff, where the rocks meet with the sea, the loud splashes and rush of waves lull me into calm. As we settle, there is a rushing feeling as my consciousness returns to my body.

 _That was fantastic,_ I tell Brand.

Brand let out a coughing growl – I think it is a dragon's laugh. _Anytime you wish for me to see through your eyes, I believe it is also possible for you to do the same to me. One of these days, we must ask our masters. But flying that way is wonderful, yes?_

I smile. _It is. Have I not told you so?_

 _Then from now on, we shall always fly as dragon and Rider. No complaints about that, I hope._

 _But of course! I cannot bear to do otherwise._ I gaze at the horizon, slowly darkening as night approaches. _This is our destiny._

 _Then are we one?_ Brand asks.

 _We are one,_ I agree.

We return to Doru Araeba as changed people. Something has shifted in our connection to each other, and I am glad for it. I now know that I will never be truly alone, and I now realize, finally, why dragon and Rider pairs often die together.

Shortly after Brand departs to hunt for dinner, I find that Eoran is waiting by the entrance to the dining hall, looking crestfallen. "It seems like you have earned your first flight," he muses.

"We have," I agree.

He grins. "Well at least one of us did," he says. "I sure am hungry."

We head in, and it seems like our other friends are not yet around. We sit together in one corner, but I only pick at the berries on my bowl. After knowing him for some time now, my tongue still gets tied whenever we try to talk to each other. I am sure that I am merely smitten.

He smiles and gazes at me from across the table. "Ash, it must be amazing to finally fly with your dragon, just the two of you. I know that we've flown on dragonback on the way here, but it must be different."

"It is," I agree. I remember the feeling of finally knowing what it feels like to truly be a Rider, and seeing the world through my dragon's eyes. "It definitely is different."

"Master Jehara mentioned that we won't be ready until another fortnight," he continues, shoulders slumping forlornly. "I wish it was sooner, but I suppose it differs between dragon and Rider pairs, eh?"

I smile at him and hope it does not look ridiculous. "Yes, it is different for every pair," I agree.

"It must be amazing, being an Elder's daughter – with another Rider, as a matter of fact. Maybe that's why you are learning quickly. You already know part of what we all should be doing." Eoran leans forward, and I have never appreciated the gray hue of his eyes so much before. I lean back, though, not sure that I like what he is actually doing despite the rest of me screaming to lean forward too. "So, my master has been asking me recently about what I would like to do after we finish our training. I haven't quite decided yet, but your… sessions… with Tryndemiel seems to have set you on your path, eh?"

"Well, yes." I remember two nights ago, where I helped him note some fragmented texts from an old human song, supposedly written long before King Palancar ever set foot in Alagaesia. "You could join us if you want to."

Eoran makes a face. "I don't want to spend my nights cooped up with musty books. I've had enough of that in my training, thank you very much. What about an ambassador? I suppose it would be safe enough."

"Yes, you're good with people," I agree. I don't know what else to say, though.

"Maybe I could be a warrior too, you know, as it is fitting for a knight's son."

"With skinny arms like yours, I doubt you would make a good warrior." Sevanna slams her tray and sits beside me, cheeks red and her face all sweaty. "I guess you would make a better one than me, though. Master Aethella sparred with me today, and I am bruised all over. She refused to heal me at all!"

Eoran turns red. "We could practice together," he offers. I feel a twinge of envy before remembering that he offered to practice magic with me before.

Sevanna raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know." She nudges me. "Maybe you could ask Tryndemiel to help me? I'll take Eoran's offer here if he refuses."

I supress laughter. Everyone in the tower knows that Sevanna is quite besotted with Tryndemiel, who is horrified by the fact. "Well, I'll try," I tell her, afraid to hurt my friend's feelings.

Eoran scowls. "You might have forgotten, but I did live with my father. He taught me a few things about wielding a sword."

Sevanna smiles languidly. "And Tryndemiel is one of the best among those our age here in the tower. Master Aethella said so." She leans forward, running her tongue over her upper lip slowly. "I do not know what you are playing at, Eoran. First, Ash, and now me?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You are surely jesting."

She grins and winks at me. "Well, you did train with him, right?"

"Fayille trained us both," I point out.

Eoran smiles nervously. "Well, we are trying to get to know each other," he says quickly. "Maybe the two of you can train or review some words from the ancient language next time."

"If we are both going to flail around uselessly if I do accept, I will kill you," Sevanna tells him sweetly.

As we leave minutes later, Eoran grabs my arm. "Please don't try too hard in convincing Tryndemiel," he mutters. "I'd really like to spend the day with her."

I nod and watch him head for the male apprentice quarters. I shrug off the sudden wave of disappointment and head the other way to the scholars' quarters, trying to keep my mind off the fact that Eoran may or may not be interested in Sevanna. The path to Tryndemiel's study is now as familiar to me as the path to my own room and the library. I throw the door open as I always do, and am greeted by a loud thump and the fall of many heavy books.

Tryndemiel staggers away from the spot behind the door, rubbing his midsection with a grimace, honey eyes watering with tears. "You caught me off guard," he groans.

"Are you not supposed to be mentally trained in case you are attacked?" I ask, helping him pick up his tomes.

"I'm sorry not to have told you, but I am no good at all with magic. Give me a sword and I'll cut people's heads off for your pretty smile, but please. No magic. None at all." He groans again and sits on his usual spot, setting down his fallen books on the table. "I believe you have bruised me."

I grin, raising my hand. Magic floods into me, easier than it has ever been. I still am not the best, but I am improving by the day. "We've studied healing magic yesterday! I think I can heal that."

He shakes his head, eyes aglow with amusement. "Spare your energy, lovely Rider. I will keep this bruise as a reminder that you have bested me," he proclaims dramatically. He falls silent for a moment while I remain by the half-open door, wondering if he was hurt far more than he is letting on. He pauses and blinks. "Wait, we're not supposed to work together until tomorrow."

"Oh." I find myself sitting across the table from him, realizing that we have agreed to meet tomorrow instead. I hit my forehead with my palm, feeling ridiculous. "I'm sorry. I was so distracted."

"That's all right," he assures me with a grin. "I suppose you're being troubled by a particular male Rider."

I stare at him, surprised that he knows. As much as I am aware of, he is much worse than me in defending his mind. "I do not know what you are talking about."

"You talk about this Eoran more often than not," he tells me mischievously. "I am sure that you are smitten."

My shoulders slump, and I remember Eoran's gray eyes gazing at Sevanna. "I suppose I am," I tell him. I tuck back a lock of hair behind my ear nervously. "It doesn't matter. It seems like he has no interest in me. Or anyone else. Or maybe he is interested in Sevanna."

His grin falls, and he begins drumming his fingers on the table. "Sevanna? I don't think she would reciprocate, at any case. You're friends, anyway. Why not try winning his affections?"

"Do you think I am so aggressive?" I snap with a roll of my eyes.

He shrugs. "You know, just think about it." He reaches out, hesitates, and rests his hand on the table again. "Now, I think you're tired, bothered, and need some rest. You can tell me about your first flight tomorrow."

"You know about that?" I ask, almost choking on my own saliva.

He raises an eyebrow slowly. "I do work for your master, Shur'tugal. He sometimes tells me a thing or two about you."

* * *

 **Sorry, a bit rushed. I actually found the first drafts I made of this story (prolly around the time I initially announced it) and will be trying to incorporate the original ideas I had. I might go back and do some minimal changes on previous chapters.**

 **So apparently a-few-months-ago-me wanted a love quadrangle, so I will serve it on a purple platter for you guys!**

 **Eoran is the really friendly type, and I don't know why but I want to give him a hug. Tryndemiel is another thing though. xD**

 **And it seems like the story is partly reflecting stuff about the people a few of the characters were derived from.**

 **We'll be seeing some action next chapter! Just a fair warning as there's a slightly bloody scene so you might want to skip some bits.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	6. Unmade

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, Jon Snow.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Unmade**

Spring slowly turns to summer in Doru Araeba. Months pass quickly as we continue honing our skills and grow stronger. Oromis has started calling for me during some of my free time, doing his best to know me and Brand more. I suppose he is genuinely sorry for his mistakes, but I am not truly ready to forgive him. We stay civil, and maybe that is a start.

Brand and Larsahin's rivalry grows as fast as their bodies, which brings Eoran much amusement.

Speaking of Eoran, it seems like his attempts to impress Sevanna do not show any progress yet. The three of us eat together, but he seems sadder and sadder everyday. I offered my help, but he declined. I am afraid that we will lose him entirely one of these days.

It makes me sad, because he still makes me feel like someone casted a spell to freeze my insides and make them tingle whenever I see and talk to him.

I still continue studying the night sky and the stories surrounding it with Tryndemiel, but since that night that I told him about Eoran and Sevanna, he started becoming a little distracted, which adds to the quiet atmosphere in the tower. I am also starting to realize that he has the opposite effect that Eoran leaves on me – he makes me warm and comfortable enough to speak my mind freely when he asks, compared to the chilly, tingling, tongue-tied sensation I am experiencing with my fellow Rider.

It is a lovely summer morning, and I wake up alone with Brand in my room. Sevanna and her dragon, oddly enough, are absent. I usually wake up earlier than them and we always walk to the dining hall together.

 _They were not here when I woke from my dreams,_ Brand confirmed.

I rub my forehead tiredly, wondering if my friendship with her is close to ending too. She was so happy last night with us though, so I hope that is not the case. _Maybe she already saved us our seats,_ I responded, trying to filly my thoughts with optimism.

I walk to the dining hall alone as Brand departs to hunt. Everyone seems subdued. The groups dining at the time are all subdued, and a number of them turn to glance at me. I find my way to my usual dining place to see Eoran glaring at his food. He looks up as I take my seat but does not speak.

I am left to eat my meal in uncomfortable silence. I am afraid to break it and am thankful when he decides that he should be the one to do so. He looks up from his untouched food. "It seems like you have not yet heard of the news," he begins.

"What kind of news is this?" I ask, my heart pounding inexplicably fast in my chest. I am afraid that it is the kind of news that I would wish never to hear. The icy tingle I feel in his presence is melted away quickly by apprehension, which is most definitely not good.

Eoran looks away, the frown on his face growing. Even when he is so surly, I think he is beautiful. "Certain Riders are to depart for the southern lands today to settle an ever-growing uprising in the area. Those who are apprenticed to them will be accompanying their masters – far from the fight, of course, but close enough to learn from it. My master was not chosen, but it seems like yours and Sevanna's are."

I frown, wondering what it is all about. I regret not reading the announcements that are put up in different areas of the tower and the city itself. "I'm afraid I haven't read the news today yet," I admit. "But maybe you will get to have this experience next time."

"I doubt it. My master and I are not important enough, it seems." He shakes his head when I open my mouth to speak and smiles. "Never mind that. I wanted to ask a favor."

I lean forward. "Anything," I assure him.

He laughs sadly and shakes his head again. "My father once told me that you should not answer that way, as you might end up promising things that you cannot – or do not wish to – fulfill."

"Then I will keep that in mind," I tell him quickly. "But do tell me what favor this is. I want to help."

Eoran hesitated for a few seconds, as if fighting with himself before deciding to continue. "I have a feeling that it will get much more dangerous in the south," he tells me softly. "I want you to keep an eye out on Sevanna if possible. I know that it may be asking too much from you, so it is fine if you say no. I won't hold it against you."

"I'll do it," I say quickly. "You're both my friends, so I'll keep an eye out on either of you in case of danger anyway – though I doubt I'll be of much help in any case."

He chuckles, and the tension which I have not really noticed before suddenly eases. "Thank you. And you do need to believe in yourself more."

I hear soft footsteps behind me and I turn. Master Barthfer is approaching us with a grim look on his face. A sense of dread fills me, and I try to fight it off before I alarm Brand, who is still hunting in the western mountains. Heads turn as my master stops before me. After all, senior Riders in the apprentices' dining hall is a rare sight to behold.

"Ash-finerya," he begins in his gentle tone. "We must talk. Are you done with your breakfast?"

"Yes," I say anxiously.

We leave the dining hall, and I look back at Eoran who finally begins eating. He looks up to smile at me briefly before turning back to his meal.

"I suppose you are aware of the unrest in the south. The humans in Aberon and the surrounding cities and towns have began to rebel against our Order and their king." Seeing Master Barthfer clad in armor and talking about impending fights is unsettling. As a scholarly man, he seems more at home among books and scrolls. "We do not wish to harm them, which is why our small outposts in the south refuse to raise their hands in battle to quell them and have summoned the best ambassadors of Doru Araeba to talk with these rebels instead."

"And so we are also coming so your apprentices can learn diplomacy skills, am I correct?" I ask.

He nods. "We shall be departing after your midday meal. I want you to spend this morning in preparation. A week's worth of equipment should suffice. Oh, and a particular scholar wanted to talk to you before we leave."

I stare at him. "And he answers to the name of Tryndemiel?" I ask.

He smiles. "Aye. I suppose he is the only scholar you have befriended."

I am eventually shooed away, and I start packing. Sevanna still is not around, which is odd. I quickly pack as instructed, and head out again. I follow the usual path to the scholars' quarters, wondering what it is all about.

Tryndemiel is perched on his table, book in hand. He seems restless, though, as his fingers keep drumming the surface of the table. He turns as I shut the door behind me, and he promptly drops his book. He pays it no mind as he leaps off his perch and nearly crashes down when he tries to regain his footing. "Ah, forgive me, Shur'tugal," he breathes.

I grin and take my usual seat. "It is not a problem," I tell him, raising my eyebrows. "As you can see, I will be leaving with the others later. Was there something you needed?"

"You won't be leaving until after the midday meal – which would be in four hours," he points out. "I wanted to go on a walk with you."

"Well, I suppose it will not hurt," I tell him as I sense my dragon nearing the tower. "Do you mind if Brand accompanies us, though?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "I would be honored."

We head out of the study and out of the tower itself. Around us, apprentices scramble to their lessons, still murmuring among themselves. The garden smells lovely as bright flowers add vivid splashes of colors among the foliage. I sense Brand approaching a few seconds before his deep blue form hovers above us, casting a comforting shadow.

We don't speak as we plunge into the city, where it is still easy to be swept up by the crowd, the sights, the sounds, and the smells. It is still a city of wonder where races and cultures converge into a tangled, extraordinary beauty.

"Despite growing up in Doru Araeba, I still find it amazing," Tryndemiel muses.

I murmur my assent, and we walk on until we reach the residential areas, where fewer people traverse the streets. We eventually reach an area blocked off by a tall wall and ornate wrought iron gates – the Riders' final resting place. He pushes the gate open, his face growing more solemn and tired. Our footsteps echo softly through the paved path.

Marble sarcophagi mark Riders of old who have passed on in active duty, many of them marked by the bright swords standing upright. We walk on until we reach an area where only few tombs are present, none marked by any sword.

We stop in front of the one that is apparently owned by someone named Ardal.

"My father," Tryndemiel says softly, bowing his head and closing his eyes. "He died a month before I was born."

I stare at him, surprised. He never talks about his family and his past. "You are a Rider's son? Is that why you lived all your life in here, then?"

He nods and kneels by the white tomb, fiddling with something by his feet. He murmurs something indecipherable – words from the ancient language, if I am to judge by the way my skin prickles. "I have no family left. My only friends until you arrived have departed for other places to continue their studies." The way he says it in such a straightforward manner breaks my heart. "I have no one."

"Nonsense," I snap. "You have Master Barthfer. You have me."

 _And me,_ Brand says, landing right behind us. He is not yet large enough to shake the land as he alights, but I could already see it in him. Someday, we shall be unstopabble. _We will be your family if there is no one else for you, little star-seeker._

I smile. "He's right. We're family."

The lower edge of the tomb pops out, revealing a long object wrapped in cloth – something that could only be a sword.

"My mother died two years ago, and she left me a way to retrieve my father's sword. He did not wish to have his grave marked by it, anticipating that I would one day need to wield it." He straightens up, the wrapped sword in his hands. "As you can see, I won't need it. I am but a scholar – but you? You are heading into obvious danger with no weapon. I know you will earn your blade soon, but I want you to have Aeryndight until then. You need to protect yourself."

I stare at him in wonder. I've never heard of him talk about his past until today and all of a sudden he is already lending me his father's sword – a Rider's sword. "Tryndemiel, I can't accept this. It's your father's. Something to be passed on to your family."

"Did you not just mention it?" He raises an eyebrow. "You are my family now. So hop along and get yourself into a grand adventure, but do not forget to protect yourself. I know that theoretically you are merely observers, but that is how my father got killed. He trusted too much."

"Will you be fine without it?" I insist.

He smiles. "I can take care of myself. Besides, what could happen in Doru Araeba?"

 _You do not know how much this means to me – and to her,_ says Brand. _Thank you, little stargazer._

Before we return to the tower, I pay my respects to the fallen Rider who also sired my friend. When we leave, I wonder if I would ever leave a legacy that is worth remembering someday.

I find Sevanna talking quietly to Fayille the elf bard when I visit the dining hall. They both look up from their little corner. It does not seem like they were doing anything improper. Fayille smiles at me. "So it seems like you are also venturing out to the south, eh? Tell me all about it once you return, so I may write a song about it."

"I am sure it will not be that dramatic," I tell him, trying to reassure myself that it will be true. I heft the wrapped sword in my hands and turn to Sevanna. "Where have you been all day?"

Sevanna turns red and smiles. "I sought out the advice of a bard, my friend." She shakes her head with a soft laugh. "Do not concern yourself about it."

I think that was a dismissal. I take my leave and slip out of the room, into the hallway where Brand is waiting for me. He stares at me with so much concern and interest. _Sometimes things change quickly, do they not?_

 _Yes._ I motion for him to follow me to the dining hall. _I should have expected changes. After all, you hatched for me when I thought I would never be a Rider, did you not?_

Of course, watching over Sevanna in case of trouble would be challenging if she does not like my presence.

I dine alone, though a number of other Riders – those who are also departing – are also in the hall.

By the time we assemble in the garden, many Riders and their apprentices gather to watch. I secure Aeryndight in Brand's saddle, not willing to reveal that I have it with me. It might cause trouble, especially for Tryndemiel.

Oromis and Glaedr join us, my father clad in gleaming golden armor. I feel the presence of his mind in my thoughts as he gives me an odd look. _I have insisted in coming, as Vrael suspects a sinister plot. Keep your eyes open, child._

 _Very well,_ I assure him.

I look around, searching for familiar faces among the gathered crowd. I see Eoran at the very front with his dragon, Larsahin. He catches my eye and nods encouragingly. I nod back with a smile. I feel considerably more confident when the horn blows at the top of the Hall of Elders, which signals the time to finally depart.

Brand circles the area once, twice, thrice, and then we follow the nineteen other Rider and dragon pairs that are heading to the south.

* * *

We travel for four days. It would have taken at least three, maybe even two, if it were not for the fact that a number of us still have young dragons that are not yet strong enough to soar quickly through a great distance. I do not really mind, as it gives me the chance to appreciate just how beautiful the land of Alagaesia is, especially up here in the sky.

Sometimes flocks of wild dragons join us, bringing tales of unease to the south. It seems like even they, mightiest of all races, are staying away from the troubled south. It is not that they fear the insurgents, who are but prey to them, but because they wish not to meddle in the affairs of humans and the Riders.

The only thing that truly bothers me is the fact that Sevanna is still avoiding me.

We arrive in the outpost in Petrovya near dusk, the scent of the warm south's flora pervading my senses. Having never been in the area since I was very, very small, I have no recollections to share to Brand, who examines his new surroundings with as much interest as me.

It is quiet in the outpost, which is not as large as the one in Ilirea. There are only maybe ten, maximum fifteen Rider and dragon pairs currently residing here, as it is a simple town that acts as a crossroads to the bigger southern settlements. The climate is warmer than the northern parts, but it is bearable enough.

Our group is introduced to the leader of the outpost – a scholarly human elf named Haelnas – who greets the senior Riders in the group with deference, and brims with excitement upon being introduced to my father. His silvery dragon towers over him, simply staring at us with mild curiosity. Beside him is his second in command – a tall, thin human named Arevan whose dark hair and eyes are made striking by his equally dark clothing and the black dragon that loomed menacingly behind him. He makes me uneasy and I hope it is simply because of his demeanor.

 _Being in an unknown territory makes me ill at ease,_ Brand admits quietly. _There are many unknown dangers here which may harm you._

 _Do not worry about me,_ I try assuring him. _There are many senior Riders and dragons here to aid us should we be in danger._

 _As long as they are not the ones bringing danger to our feet._

I take those thoughts with me as I rest on the small cot alotted to me in the cramped guests' quarters, and I wonder if we could truly trust all of the Riders here.

I wake up early after a fitful sleep, my dreams haunted by nightmares of dragons with bloody teeth and flesh-adorned talons. I dress up and leave my sleeping companions – a mix of female senior and apprentice Riders – and step out to the balcony. I take a deep breath of the warm, early morning air and cast my thoughts around. I locate Brand at the top of the building, and he immediately glides down to meet me when he senses my presence.

Without saying anything, I take my place on his back and he glides around the small outpost. We say nothing and simply enjoy each other's presence. I believe that our bond improves by this more than through anything else.

By the time we are gathered in the meeting hall, Brand's presence in my mind is a fiery beacon that I can cling to whenever I need him.

Haelnas sits at the head of the table, discussing the unrests in nearby Petrovya, which is now becoming the seat of an uprising, headed by King Edarios' bastard half-brother, Yehalwen, whose sole basis for his claim would be the violet eyes that he inherited from his sire – who has not even publicly acknowledged it. Lithgow is now sending support to the little town which is gaining more attention lately – more than it ever had in its past hundred and fifty years of existence.

The Riders of Petrovya have struck an agreement with the rebels, who accepted their request for a truce with the king, whose emissaries are housed in the northern barracks, and join us in the middle of the planning. Their leader was a middle-aged man named Salgas, whose shock of red hair seems to glint like true flames in the vivid sunlight.

I notice Oromis gazing at me. He flicks his eyes subtly toward Salgas, and then Arevan, as if hinting at something. He looks away quickly enough afterward, but I start observing both in secret afterward. I do not see anything unusual about their actions as Haelnas does most of the talking, but I keep my guard up just in case I do notice something that my father might be interested in knowing. I am no master of secrecy and hope that I am not too blatant.

The meeting concludes, and we prepare to meet with the insurgents.

Despite the stares directed at me, I hang Aeryndight from my belt. I have a feeling that Tryndemiel was right, and that I'll be needing it soon. Master Barthfer eyes the blade with unbridled amusement, while Oromis raises an eyebrow curiously.

We take to the skies, but as soon as seven Riders of Petrovya surround us, I suddenly feel uneasy. I start breathing heavily as we head to the southeast, following the road to Lithgow, which was odd. I grip Brand's saddle in abject terror when we finally reach the supposed rebel contingent – who are accompanied by seven Rider-mounted dragons, fire-tipped arrows trained at us.

Time seems to stop when the Riders escorting us draw their own weapons and their dragons rear, ready to breathe fire upon us. They open their attacks in unison, and only Brand's small size relative to his more mature kin lets him dodge the initial arrow volley. Our seniors struggle to defend us, and I let out a cry when dragonfire bursts through the ward that Oromis hastily pulled up mere seconds ago. I feel hot, searing pain in my thigh as I realize that Brand was unable to fully dodge in time. I draw my sword as we whip around to face our assailant, hoping that my shoddy skills can help me buy some time.

Unfortunately, there is no need for me to leap into battle so quickly as Barthfer and Gelfring hover between us and our assailant – a mad-eyed Aelnas – who promptly lunges and stabs my teacher right in the eye.

I scream in horror as Gelfring all but crumples, plunging to the ground like a pale sun.

* * *

 **A chapter in two parts! Hah! I missed doing chapters as long as this.**

 **In case you guys were wondering, yes, Aeryndight appeared in Bloodforge alongside Tryndemiel.**

 **I find Tryndemiel and Eoran adorable both, but I (and Ash) will make a choice in the far future. And I guess I've already set the stage for it at this point.**

 **Unfortunately I wasn't able to finish the full battle in time for my self-imposed deadline, so that will be chapter 7, and then a major timeskip for chapter 8. We'll be seeing tons of timeskips here as we'll be following 130-something years and the fall, which takes roughly a year, taking up tons of chapters in the future.**

 **Flying with dragons will always be exhiliarating and wondrous, most especially when you finally experience it with your own dragon partner! I've always wanted a red dragon of mine.**

 **What color would you like your dragon partner to have?**

 **Read and review as always!**


	7. Backs Against the Wall

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of importance here!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Backs Against the Wall**

There is no reprieve. Haelnas beckons, and his dragon opens her mighty maw, silver flames streaming out again. I grit my teeth and ignore the building pain in my thigh and in my heart, letting Brand shoot away from our blazing doom. We barely know anything about aerial battles, and here we are, thrust into one.

 _What do we do?_ I ask fretfully.

 _We survive._ Brand roared and launched himself upon our foe, who is bigger and bulkier, but definitely slower.

I am nearly thrown off the saddle as I hastily pull up the defenses in my mind. It is all I could do to keep it up as the dragons ram against each other, both trying to gain ground. Haelnas' consciousness rams against mine, and I keep my focus on Brand's warm presence at the back of my head, using its fire as cover. My head feels like it is being rent in two, and I am vaguely aware of the battle raging around me.

It feels like centuries when the mind assaulting me disengages. I am disoriented as I am returned to true awareness. Brand is flying away from Haelnas and his dragon, who are now engaged against Oromis and Glaedr.

I feel a less hostile mind pressing against my consciousness – my father's. _Assist our forces on the ground. You must rout the humans, especially the archers._

 _Yes,_ I answer.

Without waiting for me to beckon him, Brand glides down, dodging angry dragonfire and burning arrows. He stumbles as we land in the middle of rebels surrounding Sevanna. Brand rears and opens his mouth to let out a mighty roar that sends half our foes screaming and running off. He lunges forward and swips a pair with his claws, but the other four train their bows on him.

"Jierda!" Sevanna all but gasps, and the arrows snap in two, falling limply on the grass. She misses one, though, and it flies straight toward her.

A sudden rush of energy courses through me, and time seems to slow. I break through the block in my mind that inhibits my magic and hold out my hand. "Letta," I cry out, letting the arrow stop dead in its tracks.

There is no time to consider the fact that I did magic without struggling. There are other things to worry about. I leap off Brand's saddle and land right in front of an archer. Before he can pull out a melee weapon, I thrust my sword forward, breaking through his unwarded armor and knocking him down. I care not if he bleeds to death, as I pull off Aeryndight from his fallen body, all my senses screaming for my foes' blood. I hear Sevanna shouting behind me, so she probably is still alive and doing well.

I move forward, reviewing everything I've learned in swordplay back home in Ilirea and also in Doru Araeba. Now that their surprise over our arrival has faded, they are much bolder and one of them rushes toward me, while the others are being taken care of by my two companions. I raise my sword just in time to parry his blow, which is stronger than I expected.

I stagger back and fall, raising my sword hand by instinct and feeling a blade slice my arm before my assailant is wrenched away by an angry Brand. There is no time to breathe as more of the insurgents rush toward us. I see them depart from a massive yellow mound stained with blood, and my gut twists when I realize that it's Gelfring, Master Barthfer curled up beside him, motionless.

There is no time to worry or mourn as the next wave of warriors rush toward us. Chelhamel arrives to aid us, and the two dragons attempt to take on most of our foes. Sevanna and I pick off the ones who manage to slip away, and despite my limited skills in swordplay, I manage to keep up with them through parrying until Sevanna manages to kill them using a sword she picked up from the rebel I've felled.

I trade blow after blow with our foes, and my arms start feeling heavy. I could feel Brand's growing concern, but he is too preoccupied by the majority of our rushing foes. Above us, the sky is alight with angry dragonfire.

We finally get rid of most foes. I exchange wild glances with Sevanna, who is sporting a bloody cut across her right cheek. "I have to check if my master is still alive," I tell her, hoping that my voice still sounds calm despite the suddenly growing fear in me.

"There's no time," she barks, pointing at another onslaught of foes. It seems like only the four of us are left to deal with them, as our seniors and fellow apprentices are all preoccupied in the aerial battle.

I nod, trying hard to suppress my fear. I heft Aeryndight, bloodstained beyond belief. It seems like Tryndemiel's hunch was right.

Fire suddenly shoots straight at us, and it seems like it is not from a dragon. We scramble around to dodge, and I exchange glances with Sevanna. "They have a mage?"

"It seems like it." She purses her lips as the warriors surge again.

The hidden mage lobs more fire in our direction, incinerating enemy forces. It seems like our new, more dangerous foe does not care about the lives of his or her allies as long as we are taken out. I heft my sword, determined to slice through the warriors if it is needed to find the mage. The dragons take care of most warriors, while our swords hack through the rest, dodging fireballs and blasts of lightning along the way. Thankfully it seems like our foe knows only a handful of words from the ancient language. I have to keep her away from Sevanna if I am to fulfill my promise to Eoran.

I run past a fallen warrior bleeding freely from the throat to finally find our mark.

The mage is a slender young woman, barely older than Sevanna. She flicks away dark hair from her face, glassy blue eyes gazing at me with a quizzical smile. At once, I feel fiery tendrils of thought slowly rip through my mind, taken by surprise unlike the attack from Haelnas. I fall to my knees, all my energy slowly sapped by the effort to defend my mind.

I won't be seeing Eoran anymore.

I can't fix whatever has broken between Sevanna and I.

Tryndemiel will be alone once more.

Brand will perish.

Rage and fear blind me, and I rise to my feet, knees shaking and mind burning. I use these new emotions and coat my mind. It is not the best defense, but against mage with less skills than a Rider, it is enough. I move forward, Aeryndight at the ready. I close the distance between us in three steps, and fear suddenly lights up in her pale, otherwise unremarkable face.

She thrusts her hand forward, fingertips on my chest, and yells, "Thrysta!" Her last word is cut off as I plunge my sword into her heart.

I immediately realize that something is wrong.

As I pull off Aeyrndight from her corpse, pain blossoms from my chest, as if I was the one who was stabbed. I could vaguely sense Brand's alarm, my body suddenly feeling weak. The pain begins to throb madly as I feel a sudden shortness of breath. I try to head toward my allies, but my body seems weak and my surroundings too hazy.

Everything goes black even before I hit the ground.

* * *

I drift in and out of consciousness over the next few days. I hear snatches of conversation about my recovery, and some soothing words in the ancient language. I feel a vague sensation of flight, which is odd. I've never flown in my dreams.

I wake up in an unfamiliar room.

Judging from the beds spaced evenly in the room, I am in some kind of infirmary. I try to search for Brand's presence in my head, which I have grown accustomed to, and alarm suddenly flares up as I realize that I cannot sense him at all. It quickly builds into panic, and I sit up for a split second before sudden pain flares up in my chest. I slump back on my bed, hoping the pain would subside long enough for me to look for Brand.

I hear a faint rustling and look to my left. Oromis is perched on the bay window, scroll in hand, eyes trained on me. He is still his usual calm, placid self, but I could see a tired shadow looming on his face. "Ah, Ash. It is good to see you awake again," he says. Even his voice sounds so placid.

"Where is Brand?" I hate the way my voice sounds, the pleading tone slowly creeping up with every word. "I need to find him. I cannot sense him!"

He inclines his head. "I understand your distress, daughter, but do consider the possibility that it may impede your recovery. Brand is alive and well. You simply are too weak and exhausted. Someday, when your bond is full and true, you shall not worry about your communication and presence in each other's consciousness again. Though I hope you shall not put your life in danger again."

"I had to. I can't let her harm anyone else." I look away, hoping that Oromis would drop the subject.

He does. He stands up and approaches my bedside, inscrutable eyes even more infuriating. "You have worried everyone," he says in a tone that sounds like he is merely discussing the time of the day with me. "We thought that the mage has killed you."

"I killed her before she could finish the spell… or so I think," I admit.

"That is very good thinking." Oromis' eyes seem to darken as he speaks. "Barthfer and Gelfring were the only casualties in the battle. Arevan, Haelnas' second in command, arrived with Riders from the Lithgow outpost. It seems like he has been suspecting something for months – what exactly, we are still trying to learn. We are still interrogating the survivors, and unfortunately it seems like Haelnas has been driven mad."

"Mad?" I pause, thinking as my father refuses to answer my question. "His dragon was slain?"

Oromis does not speak. I look away as the realization that Barthfer and Gelfring are dead finally hits me. Tears stream from my eyes, my mind suddenly numb from shock. The tears turn into body-wracking sobs, and I do not care so much about the pain that blossoms in my chest. It is nothing compared to the feeling of loss. I will never see my masters again.

My father's face softens, and I am able to believea that he is not fully unfeeling. "I am sorry for your loss, child. Barthfer and I trained for decades under the same teacher. He was my friend, and he died doing what he loved to do – protecting those who cannot do it for themselves. We must honor his memory."

"But who will take me now? I am afraid that he was the only interested in taking me in as a pupil." Fear grips me, mingling with sadness.

"After what you have done? Do not think so lowly of yourself." He smiles for the first time since I met him. "However, we must disappoint them. I was to wait until you finish the first part of your training, but now that Barthfer will not be able to guide you… you shall be my apprentice."

I stare at him, unable to comprehend his words. He simply shakes his head. "You have too much in your mind, and you have just awakened. I shall leave you for now."

I nod. "Very well… Father."

He inclines his head. "Rest and recover, child."

The door closes quietly behind him, and silence reigns in the infirmary. Grief weighs heavily within me, and I resist the urge to stand up and do something. Brand's presence is slowly trickling through my mind, but our link is not yet strong enough for us to properly communicate. I see him standing with someone at the top of the tower, but I know not who it is.

A long stretch of silence passes with only my thoughts for a companion.

I am taken by surprise when the door creaks open, and Eoran strides in. It looks like he arrived straight from his training, his tunic and breeches all crumpled, his hair sticking up on end. He smiles and sits down at the edge of my bed.

"I heard that you are awake," he begins awkwardly, running his hand through his hair. "I couldn't thank you enough."

"I did what I have to," I admit. "But yes, I kept my promise to you, didn't I? Sevanna is fine."

He frowns. "I wish you didn't have to nearly die, though. Sevanna barely talks to me anymore, and Fayille rarely joins us. I can't stand it if you were gone."

I want to admit to him then and there that I am so smitten with him, but I decide to divert the subject instead. "Well, there's always Kifain."

He rolls his eyes and snort. "I'd rather be alone, please. Still, thank you, Ash. Anything you need from me, just ask. Well, even if you haven't protected Sevanna, but still…" He stands up, trying to smoothen his clothes. "Well, it is almost dinner. I'll talk to you later."

I could feel Brand's growing amusement in my head, and I am sure that I will be able to sense him properly again soon. Eoran walks out of the room and I barely have time to breathe out when Tryndemiel steps in. His clothes are crumpled, like he has been wearing the same things for days. His face looks haggard, as if he barely slept lately. "Ash," he all but gasps, sitting on the place that Eoran just vacated. "I saw them bring you in five days ago – I was so worried and…"

"You haven't been sleeping properly," I finish, taking in his gaunt appearance.

He smiles brightly. "Well, at least my sword seemed to have been of use."

I nod and look away. "But Master Barthfer and Gelfring are gone."

His face falls, and he rubs his forehead slowly. "I know. The scholars are in turmoil as we wait for the new Master Archivist." He stares at me, as if about to say something… then shakes his head. "Ah, we shall worry about things when the time comes." He stands up with a smile. "I cannot be late for dinner, we shall be holding a meeting over the meal. I'll be seeing you soon."

* * *

 **Hello new and old readers, what's up?**

 **I'm so sorry for the late update! Last week was a roller coaster of emotions, especially since the guy I've based Tryndemiel on has been causing some (not exactly unwanted) chaos.**

 **I have finally started working on my deviantart page, and I have a quick sketch of Sevanna uploaded, btw.**

 **By the way, just in case anyone is interested with their ages at this point of the story: Ash is 15, Eoran is 14 (turning 15 next chapter though..), Tryndemiel is 16 (a year and three days older than Ash!) and Sev is 17/18-ish. Fayille is 20.**

 **The fight scene is pretty short, but the thing is, with Ash being very inexperienced despite her lifelong training, she is not yet THAT good. And she doesn't have the intense need learn quickly and efficiently, unlike the Riders from the main stories xD**

 **And yep, just to confirm, I am a lady. Teehee.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	8. Ash and Tear

**Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle belongs to CP. Gahhhh.**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Ash and Tear**

Even with the cold winds winter brings with it, the events of last summer still lingers in my mind, my guilt overwhelming at times that I could only talk to Brand and no one else.

Sevanna left our shared room even before I was formally discharged from the infirmary, which is saddening. I have it all to myself for now, maybe until the new set of Riders arrive next spring. My former room mate was relocated to Gil'ead with her master, who is now apparently heading the warrior cluster in the outpost.

I still eat my meals and sometimes study in the library with Eoran, but he seems a little afraid of me, like I would start doing something terrible if he says or does something wrong. It breaks my heart, but I know that it just needs some patience. Maybe he will return to treating me normally once I also move on from Master Barthfer and Gelfring's deaths.

Tryndemiel is as warm as always, and I am glad that my father let me continue studying with him at night, claiming that there are many things that he also cannot teach me – which, I suppose, is true. He does not treat me differently, which I am thankful for.

As winter wears on, it grows bitterly cold. The night before the start of our rest day, I find myself shivering along the way to Tryndemiel's study. Not even the warm clothing could protect us fully from the harsh winter, even within the dragon-fire heated halls of the tower. Oromis says it helps build endurance and character, but it seems like full-blooded elves are highly resistant to coughs and colds.

When I arrive in the study,I find Tryndemiel huddled before his desk, frowning at an old scroll. It doesn't look like any of the ones we've pored over in the past months, so I suppose he replenished his materials in the library. He looks up with a smile when I shut the door behind me. I can sense Brand's amusement in my head, despite the fact that he is still away in some extended lesson with Glaedr.

 _What?_ I snarl.

 _Nothing. You will understand later,_ he replies before closing off our connection.

I take my usual seat, and Tryndemiel's eyes lock onto mine. "Before we start, I wanted to ask a favor from you," he begins awkwardly. He fiddles with the frayed edges of the scroll. "Tomorrow is my seventeenth nameday."

"You haven't told me that before," I point out. Three days before my nameday? That's a very interesting coincidence. I will have to take my leave early today, or wake up before dawn tomorrow to find him a suitable gift. "Why mention it now?"

"I have never really celebrated my nameday, but I received a letter a few days ago." The look of discomfort in his face intensifies. "My mother is from House Rilvenar, you see, and she bore two children around fifty years before me. My half-sister is visiting me tomorrow – and I don't think I can face her alone."

Well, that was new. Our hard-driven scholar and skilled swordsman seems to have no confidence when it comes to matters of the family. Not that I can blame him of course, with me having my own family problems.

"Of course, if you need me to accompany you then I will do it," I promise him. "You know, you did save my life last summer with that sword of yours."

He smiles – not the rare beautiful ones that I seem to get more and more lately, but the tired ones that I've known since we first met. "Thank you. House Rilvenar never approved of me or my father, so I am not comfortable with meeting any of them – not even my own sister."

"Family is a complicated concept," I tell him.

He shrugs and looks down at his scroll. "We've been looking for the myths behind the two stars – The Lovers – for weeks, and I think I've found something," he finally says. He carefully hands me the brittle scroll and points at a passage. "Read."

I nod and pore over the small text, most of it in fragmented and archaic script. "Of all the heroes tonight, they shone the brightest. When the married stars arose in the sky, he of the brightest sword and she of the greatest shield were found lying together even in death, entwined in the embrace only lovers would know. We have decided to name the coupled stars after them – Althanor and Talahin."

The Lovers are the loveliest and brightest stars in winter, always rising and setting at the same time, apart only by a very small distance. They have always fascinated Jotnar, which is part of why I also wanted to read more about them.

"Althanor and Talahin…" Tryndemiel pondered at the names with a small smile. "Fitting for lovers, aye. I've never known those stars as anything but The Lovers, but now maybe we can submit this report and get their ancient names recognized. I wish there was more to this tale, though."

I nod in agreement. Yes, it truly would be very interesting. "It must have been a tragically romantic tale."

We speak no more of the excerpt that night, and instead I assist him in compiling his notes about a particular star. I excuse myself early, eager to set out and look for a gift before curfew. He seems to know what I am planning to do, as he insists that there is no need for me to make an effort. I just smile at take my leave, meeting with Brand in my room.

 _You seem excited,_ he notes, eyes twinkling. _The city is vast, the shops many. Are you sure you will be able to find a suitable gift for the little two-legs?_

I smile as he lets me saddle him for the short trip. _He is only one among my friends who has not changed after that day,_ I tell him. _And we did promise to be his family._

 _I was expecting another kind of family for the two of you. Something akin to mates._ Brand sounds genuinely confused by me.

With a glare, I swat his nose lightly, aware that doing such an act seriouly would result in abrasions. He lets out coughing growls – dragon laughter – and flexes his wings as I take my place on the saddle. _You are ridiculous,_ I snap.

He continues chuckling even when he leaps out of the balcony and soars out of the the tower area. We land into the city, and I feel the full blast of the winter chill. I am thankful for the warmth that my own dragon brings with his own imposing presence. He begins to march through the streets, the crowd parting respectfully to give him space. We wander around for hours, peering at shop windows that we pass by.

The night grows darker and the streets grow more crowded as we move on. We see a few familiar faces – Kifain and his dragon, Helga and Iormungr – when we reach the main marketplace. Hawkers shout their wares in excitement, but it is mostly food. I don't think Tryndemiel would like that.

We eventually find ourselves in a shop selling trinkets and other curiosities. Being too large despite the fact that he is a fairly young dragon, Brand stays outside, one eye peering through the window and keeping our link as strong as possible.

The room is dimly lit, giving it a cluttered but cozy feeling. As a matter of fact, the haphazardly placed shelves remind me of Tryndemiel's study. Even the items on display are placed in no particular order, jewels, ornamental weapons, and books stacked randomly on one shelf, mirrors, boxes, and scrolls on another.

I get a glimpse of the shop keeper behind a desk at the very back, eyes intent on the book she is reading, wildly curly red hair all over her hair. As I stare though, her odd gray eyes flick to my face and her rosebud lips curl into a small, welcoming smile. She stands up, and I realize that she is quite short, even for a human, though tall enough not to be mistaken for an oddly-proportioned dwarf. She smooths her shocking green robes as she approaches me, book still in hand.

"Ah, a customer!" She sounds barely older than me, though her eyes gleam with volumes of experience. "I rarely get any nowadays with the bigger shops to contend with. So, what do you need? Fortunes told, love potions, charms to boost your luck, hm? I do that all the time, but not all of my services come cheap!" She catches a glimpse of Brand peering in from the window and jumps in surprise. "A Rider? You are a Rider?"

"Yes, I am a Rider in training, I suppose. Er, I'm actually looking for a gift," I tell her. "A nameday gift."

"Oh, a gift!" The shopkeeper's eyes widen, as if having a hard time comprehending what I just told her. "Is this for a father? A mother? A lucky young man who caught your fancy? Or do you have a special lady friend?"

"Well, he is a young man, I suppose." I feel my cheeks burn as I peer at an ornamental dagger, but I don't think he would like it. "He's not someone I fancy. He is family, in a sense."

The shopkeeper gazes at me oddly, and I feel once again that she sees and knows more than her young face shows. "Family in more ways than you think." She walks around idly, peering at her wares with apparent interest. "Not a warrior. Scholarly type, judging from what I can see about you, dear Rider."

"Well, yes." Just who is this odd woman?

"A trinket would be too frivolous for the poor lad but – aha!" She picks out something from a mess of a shelf – something that gleams in silver and gold.

She holds out the item hanging from a golden to me – a metallic pendant shaped like the fang of a great beast – maybe even a dragon's, made of gold and adorned with a silvery clasp shaped like a wolfhound, like those employed by the farmers of Palancar Valley. I saw such a creature only once, when the northern farmers traveled south to trade two years ago. I would never forget the wolfhounds, though, as they are fearsome like their names imply. I note the small amber-hued crystals that stood for the clasp's eyes.

"It would be perfect," I agree. "But it looks to expensive."

The shopkeeper smiles and closes my fingers around the pendant. "One gold piece, seven silver, and thirty copper."

That is exactly half of what I have with me.

I count out the coins, trying my best not to look suspicious as I peer at the odd young woman who is humming idly as she places the pendant in a small, velvet-lined box and hands it to me. "See? Not too expensive. Do dress up pretty when you accompany him tomorrow."

When I rejoin Brand, he expresses the same feelings as I – suspicion and surprise. Who is that shopkeeper, and why does she know so much?

I eventually end up in an uneasy sleep, my dreams filled with shadows and gray eyes, wolfhounds and bloodstained fields.

I wake up hours before sunrise, to the sound of cold winds battering the world outside the tower. Brand is sound asleep, oblivious to my disquiet. I am sure that part of my dreams have been shared to him, but he may not acknowledge them until he wakes much later. I lay curled up in my blankets, lost in the dark thoughts brought to me by the odd shopkeeper in the city and the pent-up guilt stemming from Master Barthfer and Gelfring's deaths.

Minutes before I am sure that the morning bell would ring, I rise and complete my daily ablutions. I take the odd shopkeeper's advice to mind, and put on my best clothes – a pale green tunic the same color as my eyes, trimmed with gold leaves, and a dark blue coat with a rising silver dragon embroidered on the back. For good measure, I grab my only cloak – a plain black hooded one that doesn't seem to match anything else.

I pat my black breeches in place and peer at the mirror. I brush my pale hair into something resembling a proper style and rub the sleep from my eyes. Outside, I can sense Brand awakening. His mind is still clouded by sleep when his thoughts flicker in my head. _You have barely slept._

 _So much still bothers me,_ I tell him, patting my hair into place and stepping out of the bathing room.

Brand watches with a languid eye as I run back to the mirror to tie my hair back with a plain white strip of cloth. I could sense his amusement, and I send a tendril of annoyance back at him when we finally march out of my room just as the gong signalling breakfast resounds through the halls, Tryndemiel's gift in my coat pocket.

We part as he leaves to hunt for his breakfast, and I stride into the near-empty dining hall alone, feeling cold without my dragon's physical presence. I find Fayille by himself in one corner, and he looks up as I sit down across from him. He smiles as he realizes who I am.

Neither of us speak as we partake of our meal. With a sudden queasiness building in my stomach, I barely eat anything, settling for a few berries and calming mint tea. I barely finish it all when Fayille finally leans forward. "Ash-fineria, Tryndemiel asked me to tell you that he wants to meet you in the library one hour after breakfast." He smiles slyly. "Are you having a tryst with the youngest scholar in the tower now?"

I feel my cheeks turn red. "No," I snap. "I most certainly am not. He just wanted me to accompany him. He is supposed to meet his sister."

Fayille laughs. "Ah, Tear! That woman terrifies me."

"You know her, then?" I ask, curious about this Tear.

"Of course. Young though she may be among my people, she is most renowned in the art of battle. Many were disappointed when she was not chosen as a Rider and declined an invitation from the Painted Ones. Ah, you have a brother among them, do you not?"

"Yes." I hope I do not sound bitter. "Jotnar has not written to me since we parted last spring."

Fayille pats my hand consolingly. "I hear that their training is very rigorous. He might not have the time nor the energy to write to you."

Even when I take my leave to meet with Tryndemiel, I am still hoping against hope that the bard is right. The alternatives would be too painful to bear.

As promised, Tryndemiel is waiting in the library, concealed behind a shelf containing ancient human songs. He is not dressed in his usual robes, though, dressed instead in a pale violet tunic threaded with silver, icy blue jacket, plain gray breeches and a plain black cloak like mine.

He looks up as I approach and stands up so quickly, he knocks down his chair and almost falls along with it. He regains his balance clumsily and pulls the chair up. A nervous smile crosses his face fleetingly as he turns to face me. "Ah, Ash Svit-kona! I am very sorry for that. You took me by surprise."

I remember a similar event happening months ago, when he falls down with his books when I throw the door to his study open. "It seems to happen every now and then, I suppose," I tell him. I rummage in my pocket and pull out the small box containing his gift. "I wanted to wish you a happy name day."

"I haven't felt that for years," he tells me as he accepts the gift. "Thank you. I think it will be a happy name day, like you said." I watch him open the box, and his eyes seem to spark with glee as he gazes at the pendant. He looks up at me and smiles as he immediately wears the necklace, eyes quietly admiring the pendant. Looking up, red begins to paint his cheeks. "Tear will probably be waiting for us. Shall we?"

"With pleasure."

We head together for the gardens, where many visitors flock to see their Rider relatives and friends. I look around, looking for someone who might share my friend's features. Tryndemiel spots his sister before I do, which makes sense. He nudges me and motions to a tall elf who is sitting by the pond, back rigidly straight. She turns her golden hawklike eyes upon us, curly dark brown hair tied back with a simple red ribbon. She is beautiful, ageless, and intimidating.

"That's her. I am sure of it." Tryndemiel gives me a nervous look. I reach out to squeeze his hand in encouragement.

He beams and walks forward while I trail a little behind him. The elf stares at him with an inscrutable expression on her fair face. "Tryndemiel, I take it," she says in a warm, rich voice. "I hope you are well."

"I am," he says quietly. "I received your letter."

"A happy name day to you," Tear says formally. "What they say is true, I see. You look neither human nor elf, like the human Riderss who have bonded with their dragons for decades."

"Thank you." Tryndemiel glances at me nervously, as if unsure of how to proceed.

Tear's eyes roam to my face, and they widen almost imperceptibly. "Oh, and who are you?"

"I am Ash, his friend. Just a simple Rider in training," I mumble.

Tryndemiel raises an eyebrow. "Sister, she is Ash, daughter of Elder Oromis and Rider Sigrid Twoblades, and she is my closest friend."

A knowing smile quirks up Tear's features. "I am sure that I will be hearing more of you today if that is the case, Ash-finerya."

"I hope all of it is good," I mumble. "I must take my leave so you may spend time with each other."

"Oh, everything will be good," Tryndemiel assures me. He leans forward, and his lips brush against my forehead ever so lightly. "Thank you. Again."

"You are most welcome," I blurt out, feeling my cheeks burn. It is nothing, I tell myself. Merely a way for him to express his gratitude. "I will be seeing you soon."

He smiles. "Of course."

* * *

 **Gahhh. A sappy chapter. I'm sorry, but I'm in THAT state of mind right now. And I need to get someone out of my head to start writing properly again. I feel like a hormonal teen again (like our heroine and her friends)**

 **I missed Eoran all of a sudden! One more sappy chapter after this, then vacation, then chapter 10, which is Eoran-centric!**

 **We'll be meeting Tryndemiel's other sister soon. And I seriously adore all of them! As for Sevanna though, I'm afraid that she will be put on a bus for now. But we'll hear from her and Chelhamel eventually.**

 **Next chapter is Ash's birthday! You might want to send her greetings and gifts. Kidding!**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	9. Right as Rain, Soft as Snow

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC's.**

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Right as Rain, Soft as Snow**

"Come on, Ash, we will be late," Eoran calls out, leading the way through the crowded streets.

It is late at night, just a few hours away from my name day. I haven't seen Tryndemiel since I left him with Tear, and I wonder just how their reunion is going along. I set those thoughts aside and focus on Eoran's tall form weaving through the people of Doru Araeba. I run after him, footsteps crunching in the snow.

We reach the center of the area, which is a small plaza – well, small compared to those in the rest of the city – usually used for social gatherings. Lovely ice sculptures now line the edge of the area. Lovely spires, dragons in flight, men and women of all races, all made in ice enchanted not to melt or chip until the end of the Winter Saturnalia, which will be starting in five days. Eoran waves his arms around happily. "Are they not lovely? I told you it would be worth it," he exclaims.

"Worth it, but next time waiting for our dragons might be a better idea," I point out. "Brand and Larsahin would be back from the joint training in half an hour, and could fly us to this place and back even before curfew."

"But then, we won't be able to exercise." Eoran laughs, his breath fogging up thanks to the cold. "You know, we have to stay fit."

"I know that," I tell him. I note the way he fiddles with the bracelet of braided leather that I gave him for his name day early last fall. He gazes at the towering dragon sculpture before us, seemingly transfixed by the sight. The vivid light cast by the lamps reflect in his stormy eyes, and I feel a fluttering in my stomach. "Amazing, the way one could use a simple knife to carve such shapes in the ice once it has been prepared with magic. It takes so much skill and attention to detail for you to create even just one of these."

"Preparation would have started even before fall sets in," I agree, admiring the glittering likeness of Vrael, sword in hand.

Eoran reaches out to touch the ice dragon's chilly surface. "I want to create works of art. I've been thinking about it when Master Jehara discussed fairths. I want to paint. I want to sculpt and write. I want to create art that people would remember, so they can see that Riders are so much more than what the common people think of them."

I nod, understanding how he feels. Maybe that's the same reason I want to be a scholar studying the stars. We are so much more than warriors and diplomats. We have our own interests, our own dreams and hobbies. We are people too. "It would be good then to start practicing now," I point out. I vaguely notice that my voice does not sound so nervous like it usually does when I am around him. "Maybe you should buy some paper and paint and everything else you might need."

He grins. "Someday, but not now. We have years of training ahead of us."

I nod vaguely. I stare at him, feeling the icy shiver that I get whenever I see his face. After all this time, it seems like I am still smitten by him. He smiles, tugging at the knitted red scarf around his neck. "Ah, Kifain cornered me a few days ago and wanted me to ask you if you and that scholar were… you know… canoodling."

I glare at him. "Canoodling? Ha! He knows who I would rather canoodle with," I mutter. As a matter of fact, I am talking to him at the moment, and yet he is oblivious to it.

"Please do not tell me that you want to canoodle with Fayille," he groans, making a disgusted face.

I swat his arm lightly. "Of course not. Why should I? He is older… and an elf… and he's so odd."

He laughs. "Odd. But he is not that bad-looking, if you hear Sevanna rant about him." His face falls as he remembers her. "I never did know why she rejected me and suddenly avoided both of us."

"Tryndemiel says she was interested in him." I rub my shoulders, suddenly feeling cold – not the pleasant shiver I get around Eoran, but a sad, lonely sensation. "He never reciprocated, so maybe she is just a little upset about that?"

Eoran's lip twitches. "Maybe. Maybe. That's all we could do, isn't it? Speculate." He rubs his chest sadly. "It hurts."

I choose not to speak, but it also hurts, watching him pine for someone he could never have either.

The morning of my name day arrives in a wave of cold. The world outside the tower is blanketed by a thick cover of snow, and I dread walking out to train with Glaedr and my father. Brand doesn't seem to mind it, though he keeps insisting that he prefers the summer heat.

The dining hall is subdued. Everyone is feeling the bitter cold, and friends huddle with each other to stave off its creeping claws. I find Fayille and Eoran talking animatedly, hands around cups of steaming tea. It does fight off part of the cold, but I still shudder when I sit across the table from them, bundled a thick coat and at least two scarves.

Eoran is the first to address me. "A happy name day to you," he exclaims with a wide smile. "Lovely day to spend outside, eh?"

"Our noses would probably freeze and fall off within the hour," I tell him. "And thank you."

"A happy name day to you, Ash-finerya," Fayille says with a fluorish.

Eoran grins and pushes a small box across the table. "For you," he announces, chuckling softly as I open the box carefully, afraid of damaging it.

Inside is a lovely red ribbon lined with silvery thread. I immediately remove my old ribbon and tie it back with the new one. I stare at him, a smile etched on my face. "Thank you. You did not have to, and you know it."

"I had to, believe me." He smiles and shakes his head. "After the nightmare you went through last summer and remaining as my friend, you deserve it."

"But still, I thank you." I hope I am not turning red. "I hope I could help you with Sevanna too."

"Think nothing of it," he assures me with a smile.

I find Oromis waiting for me outside the tower with Glaedr and Brand. The other pupils heading off with their teachers look as unhappy as I feel about having to brave the cold. I stare at my father, who seems unaffected by the weather. "I don't care about building character. I will be losing my nose in this climate. We used to stay inside in days like this back in Ilirea."

"You are a Rider, and you must learn to forge on despite harsh conditions. We will be training for a fortnight in the Hadarac Desert next year." Oromis smiles tightly. "And a happy name day, Ash." With a fluorish, he shows me a sword belt adorned with woven silver.

I thank him, not knowing what else to say. I let Brand carry it off in his saddle, planning to replace my current belt with it later.

I change clothes before dinner despite the fact that I would most likely end up going back to my room to sleep after eating. I secure my new belt around my waist and pat down my hair, then sit down beside Brand on the soft red carpet and wait for the dinner gong to sound.

 _It was a tiring day,_ I muse, closing my eyes and basking in his warmth.

 _It was, and your name day too. Shall we celebrate my hatching day next spring too?_ His dark blue eyes sparkle as he watches me.

I smile, remembering the little hatchling in my arms. It feels like it was just yesterday, despite the things that happened in between that time and today. He hums softly, and I close my eyes, lost in so many fond memories. I force my mind to stray away from the painful events of summer.

I am jolted out of my thoughts when my door creaks open. No one visits me, unless you count the servants who regularly clean our rooms every week. A familiar face peers into the room – Tryndemiel. He smiles at me giddily. "Good evening," he begins breathlessly. "Forgive me for being late, Ash Svit-kona, but I still want to wish you a happy name day."

"Thank you," I say, standing up.

He looks down, looking timid all of a sudden. "I wanted to find something special for your nameday… like you did for mine. I actually asked Tear for help, and she seemed most amused. You don't know how many shops we found ourselves in!"

I cross my arms, flustered all of a sudden. "Y-you didn't have to," I stammer. I feel my heart thundering in my chest nervously as he steps completely into my room. "There is never any need to make such an effort."

"And I told you the same thing a few days ago," he points out.

I turn to Brand. "Tell him why he is being ridiculous."

 _Well, he is not. You disregarded his words, and he disregarded yours. It is but fair._ My dragon has a point, I suppose.

Tryndemiel tilts his head curiously, unaware of my very supportive dragon's response. He takes the time to rummage in his pocket and brings out a small box. He presents it to me with a fancy bow. "M'lady, your gift," he jests.

I smile and take the box. "Why thank you, m'lord."

His eyes sparkle, the tired air I have grown accustomed to since we met suddenly fading away. The bright look etched on his face urges me to open the box, and I do. Inside is a thin ring made of pale red, blue, green, and purple metal intricately twined together. It was lovely and simple and I couldn't help but put it on immediately.

"It is dwarven-made. Or so the odd shopkeeper told me." Tryndemiel reddens. "I did hear some of the human scholars talking about how men give rings to important women in their lives. And, well, since you are my closest friend and… yes."

I blink in surprise. "I think you misunderstood what they told you," I point out, feeling myself blush as bright as him. "Men give rings to women during weddings – or to offer betrothal."

The color in his cheeks deepen. "Oh. Oh." He rubs his forehead. "I am an idiot."

I stare at him with a smile. I have never truly appreciated the fact that he is actually quite as beautiful as Eoran. "No, you are not. You are a very sweet person," I tell him. Something warm seems to awaken in me, and I lean forward to kiss his cheek as lightly as he kissed my forehead on his name day. "Thank you."

He bows with a flourish once more, a mirthful glint in his eyes. "You will always be welcome."

Behind me, Brand suddenly stands and stretches, flexing his midnight-blue wings. A wild idea occurs to me, and I can sense my dragon's approval. I turn back to Tryndemiel. "Say, did you ever fly on the back of a dragon?"

"No," he says, drawing out the word. "I've always dreamed of doing so though, even just once in my life."

"Then you are in luck," I tell him, crossing my arms. "I happen to be a Rider."

He raises his brows as comprehension dawns upon him. "I would not mind taking up that offer, but we will miss dinner. Unless you want to eat somewhere in the city, in which case I will lead you to my favorite place."

"I would love that." I grin and mount Brand, holding out my hand to Tryndemiel.

He hesitates before taking it, hoisting himself up clumsily. I teach him how to tie himself using the straps on the massive saddle, and I wonder if it is true that it could keep at least five people comfortably seated. He still looks nervous when we throw the balcony door open. I shut it behind me and secure it with magic.

Brand lets out an excited huff of breath, deep blue flames dancing out of his nostrils. _Where to, little ones?_

"Give us a good view of the city," I tell him. "But do be careful. I don't want to frighten our friend."

"I won't be," Tryndemiel groans in protest.

I grin. "Oh, let's see about that. Let's go!"

Brand spreads his wings and leaps off. We quickly plunge down, and I hear Tryndemiel scream in terror as his arms wrap around my waist like a lifeline. Before we hit the ground, my dragon bounds up with a snap of his wings, and we begin to circle the tower.

We soar higher and higher as we begin to fly around the city, the twinkling lights looking like small gems upon a greater piece of jewelry. I feel Tryndemiel relax behind me, but he keeps his arms around my waist, probably afraid that Brand might decide to show off again. I note the fact that it actually feels nice, and I sense Brand's amusement again.

 _What?_ I all but snarl.

 _I haven't seen you that happy around Eoran. Mostly you are nervous when he is around._ Brand seems to be trying to send another message across, but I'm not sure what.

We circle the city, watch it bustle with life for a few minutes. Then, Brand veers to the mountains and the sea, to the place where we rested during our first flight. None of us speak as we settle on the cliff, the crash of the icy waves against the frozen rocky shore the only sound aside from our breathing.

I dismount, fingers stiff from the long, cold flight. I hold out my hand as I reach the ground again to help a pale-faced Tryndemiel stand beside me. He adjusts the coat covering his body and glances at me. He keeps his grip on my hand. "The view is beautiful," he muses. "Watching the earth from the sky is as enthralling as watching the sky from the earth."

"It is," I agree. "It is more beautiful in summer, but seeing it in winter with all the harsh beauty has its appeal too."

"Not as beautiful as you," he says.

I stare at him, and he stares back for a while before looking away. I ponder on his words, and neither of us speak until we return to the city and eat in a secluded, quiet and cozy dining shop. We make small talk, talking mostly about Tear and how she is planning to return with the rest of their siblings.

By the time we return to the Tower, my mind is running so fast that I am unable to grasp my thoughts properly. We land in the balcony and Tryndemiel hastens to the door across my room. He quietly takes in the sight of my face before walking away. I watch him until he turns down a corner to another hallway.

I think I am smitten by him – him and Eoran.

* * *

 **I did say that this chapter will also be sappy, right? XD We'll be focusing on Eoran next chapter and a bit of a sparring scene (guess who!)**

 **Yep, everyone guessed right. That shopkeeper is our enigmatic witch sans werecat. xD**

 **Tear and her sister (and another half-sister) are actually quite nice, though one of them will terrify Ash to death. Mwahaha!**

 **I might update Bloodwar next, but that depends on my mood when I return from my trip.**

 **Brand is the most amazing shipper on deck. I need a dragon too!**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	10. Sword and Shield

**Disclaimer: Jon Snow knows as much as I own.**

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Sword and Shield**

Winter turns to spring, turns to summer. Brand keeps growing, his flames gaining intensity. Under the tutelage of my father, I improve my skill with the sword, and casting magic saps less and less energy with every attempt I make.

We still hear no word from Jotnar. Mother visited last spring, bringing tidings of more unrest in the fiery south, and among the dwarves. She mentioned being sent to Lithgow to assist in the negotiations. I have a feeling that something terrible is going to happen there. I hope it is a mere feeling.

Something has shifted between Tryndemiel and I. I start enjoying the warmth of his presence more and more. He seems more relaxed and open, which I appreciate, but his actions last winter still baffle me so much.

Eoran grows sadder and sadder with each day. I know he pines for Sevanna despite the fact that she has been gone for a year. I want to do something to make him happy again, but I know not what.

As the end of summer's warm breath nears and the tree leaves start taking in the fiery colors of fall, I am ordered by my father to start visiting the novice sparring grounds for one hour before I meet with him.

With the warm golden sun burning bright above me, I make my way to the place, wondering who it is that was ordered to test my skill with the blade every day. The sound of clashing weapons precede the wide open space where the Riders in training, visitors, and scholars of the tower train in the art of war.

My eyes roam, looking for familiar faces. Brand hovers above me, keeping a wary eye out for potential trouble. I spot Kifain, dark eyes fixed on me from his perch on a tree branch. He beams at me, frantically trying to smooth out his green tunic. "Ash!" he calls out in greeting. "I haven't seen much of you since we were chosen as Riders."

Well, we have not seen much of each other on Ilirea either, as we were simply casual acquaintances even back home. "Well, we are busy with our training and well, we have our own circle of friends too."

"I was wondering when I could catch you alone here. You are always with that effeminate Rider. If not, you are always with that pretty scholar, or that flamboyant bard."

To be honest, I do not like the way he is talking about my friends. Who is he to judge them? "To each their own, Kifain. Like I said, we have our own circle of friends, and it seems prudent to keep it that way."

Kifain's expression darkens. Before he could retort though, Eoran arrives, wooden sparring swords in hand. He inclines his head to Kifain. "Well, I have them now. Are you ready?" he asks.

The smile on Kifain's face chills my blood. I try staving off my sense of unease as the two heft their sparring equipment, eyeing each other differently. Eoran seems to brim with excitement, Kifain with outright hatred. They stare at each other for a while, and I fear that Eoran is oblivious to what might be going on his sparring partner's mind. Kifain makes the first move, whipping up his sword and clipping Eoran painfully in the chin, showing off one of the most basic techniques taught to children in the Ilirea outpost. Eoran cries out in pain and surprise, barely managing to parry the next blows.

Kifain bares his teeth in wrath, his blows getting more and more ferocious, eyes aglow with a certain kind of madness. Despite being the son of a knight, Eoran is outclassed thanks to Kifain's more rigorous training as a Rider's child.

I watch them, torn between stopping the one-sided fight and preventing Eoran from being shamed.

Our dragons watch us with bated breath. Intense concentration seems to dance through Palasin's lurid pink eyes as he is most likely encouraging Kifain. Larsahin's teeth are bared in outright contempt. Brand watches seemingly with a placid manner, but I know him long enough to be sure that he is as torn as I.

When I watch Kifain snap his sparring blade in two as he hits Eoran across the chest, I know that I already need to step in.

As Kifain gloats over the injured Eoran, I shove him as hard as I could with my shoulder, sending him sprawling on the ground while ignoring Palasin's angry growl. He glares at me with his large, terrifyingly intense eyes "Why?" he roars. "I am winning. What are you doing, letting him cheat?"

"You are taking things too far," I snarl.

"You should understand why."

If glares could burn me, I would be nothing but cinders now. Kifain bares his teeth and lets out a dragon-like snarl. He all but throws the pieces of his wooden sword at me before he storms away. I turn to Eoran, still lying on the dusty ground.

"Can you move?" I ask.

He tries to hoist himself up and winces. "I don't think so," he moans.

None of the other people in the field have noticed that something is amiss. I hear approaching footsteps, though. Tryndemiel, clad in a plain tunic, approaches us with a pair of wooden swords. "Ash," he calls out, not aware of what the situation is. "Are you ready to spar?"

I have never been so relieved to see him. "Tryndemiel! We need your help. Eoran is hurt."

He blinks twice then nods, serious all of a sudden. "Can he move at all? What happened?"

"I think I broke some of my ribs," moans Eoran.

I glance at Tryndemiel. "Can you stay with him? I can go get my father. He is quite good on the healing arts."

"That would help," he agrees. I'll stay with Eoran-vodhr until then."

I mount Brand, whose sense pf urgency heightens mine. He flexes his wings before leaping to the air, which caresses my face as we head to the gardens. Oromis waits as usual under his favored apple tree, leaning against Glaedr's enormous golden form. He stands up as he sees me, as if aware of my distress. The wind brought forth by Brand's wings send ripples upon his dark plum robes. "Daughter, is something the matter?" he calls out.

"Someone in the sparring grounds is hurt," I yell back as Brand circles the area, looking for a good place to land. "Eoran. Tryndemiel is waiting with him. We need aid."

Oromis inclines his head in acknowledgement. He mounts Glaedr without another word and soon they are flying to the sparring grounds with us. A gaggle of novice human Riders, mostly under the standard ages of ten and eleven, surround my two friends.

Tryndemiel and Eoran seem to be in a deeply serious conversation which they cut off as we approach. Oromis leaps gracefully off his dragon's back and approaches Eoran. I follow him, standing beside Tryndemiel. "I hope he will be fine," I muse.

"He will be," Oromis assures me as he begins assessing the damage.

Tryndemiel watches my father in action with inscrutable eyes. "Eoran is a good person. I understand why you care so much about him."

"It is something he will not reciprocate, so it does not really matter," I tell him bitterly.

"He admires you a lot, but yes, it seems like he still pines for your friend." He crosses his arms. "Do not let that ruin the way you see yourself. We both know that you are amazing."

I stare at him, wondering what he is trying to imply. "I don't know, Tryndemiel, but you're the only person who says that."

His lips twitch with the ghost of a smile and says no more.

By nightfall, Eoran seems to be happier when we meet in the dining hall. He watches me sit across the table from him as he drums his fingers on the table idly. "Thank you for helping me earlier. Master Jehara had a word with Kifain and his teacher when she found out about what happened. I owe you so much, Ash."

"I did what I had to as a friend," I assure him. I still feel my stomach whirling madly with what felt like shards of ice. "I am just glad that my father was able to heal you so quickly."

He smiles. Despite being friends for over a year, I am still surprised by how beautiful he is. "I think Kifain is smitten with you. Or maybe more than smitten, judging by his actions. I don't think he's the only one, though."

I almost stop breathing. "What do you mean?"

He chuckles. "Oh, haven't you noticed? Well, I want you to figure it out yourself, or better yet, wait for him to tell you. If he has the guts. He'd suit you better than mad Kifain, anyway."

"And I won't consider taking Kifain as a lover anyway," I tell him, making a face. I recall the other Rider's maddened dark eyes with a shudder. "I think he is quite mad, to be honest. He was among the best fighters among the children in the Ilirean outpost, but he was always a little odd. He was very friendly, but he had very few actual friends."

Eoran nods. "Maybe he feels lonely. I rarely see him in these halls."

"I know. Maybe you're right. He still scares me."

"Well, do you think that Tryndemiel, Fayille, or I would let him harm you? Friends don't let friends get hurt or worse," he assures me with a grin. "As a matter of fact, I think Tryndemiel might have already killed him for what he did this morning."

Morning arrives, the warmth of summer slowly mellowing as fall rapidly approaches. I still have no one ot share my room with, though my father assures me that he is sure one of the Riders to be chosen next spring will finally fill the void left by Sevanna. All throughout breakfast, my mind wanders to my old friend, wondering what exactly happened to draw her away from us.

Fayille is at our table this morning, a cup of tea in front of him and lute in hand. He strums idly, a small frown creasing his otherwise flawless face. "I can't find a tune to match," he murmurs softly as I finish my meal.

"Have you written a new song?" I ask, savoring the berry juice that I am starting to prefer.

He shakes his head. "No, no. I have simply found an old song in the library, and no one I ask has ever heard of it before. It is so difficult to create a fitting tune to this Ballad of Althanor and Talahin."

I blink, realizing that the names he mentioned were very, very familiar. Tryndemiel and I have been searching madly for more documents about them, but sadly we have been coming up empty-handed since last winter. "You found something about them?" I say, almost dropping my empty glass. Tryndemiel and I have not found a single passage about them since winter."

Fayille inclines his head. "I found a small cache of scrolls about their tale – but forgive me, Ash-fineria, I was only looking at the song for no one I've ask has ever heard of it. It must predate the arrival of my people from Alalea." He pauses, setting down his lute beside him. "I shall show the two of you the scrolls tonight."

Throughout the day, I am excited to see the scrolls that Fayille discovered. I am sure that it would help a lot with our research regarding the history of The Lovers, and I am also intrigued by the story of Althanor and Talahin, and why they left such a legacy in our civilization. It seems like my excitement is so evident, as Oromis regards me with unusual amusement in his eyes as I finish lunch.

"I am not sure if you are simply thinking of more interesting things than our lessons, or if you are simply are so thrilled to spend time with your scholar friend tonight," he muses quietly as he lathers honey on his bread.

Seeing that jar of thick honey makes me think of someone's eyes, which are the exact same shade.

 _I think you are truly and completely besotted by him,_ notes Brand.

I send a flicker of annoyance into his mind, which he responds by sharing his amusement. _I am smitten, but I think of Eoran more._

 _You know that hasn't been true since last winter,_ he tells me before retreating from my mind to focus on his flying.

I look up, back to my father whose eyes still sparkle with subtle amusement. "I am merely excited because Fayille found some unsorted books in the library that could help in our research. Have you ever heard of the lovers Althanor and Talahin?"

My father shakes his head. "The names, I hear, were popular among elves a thousand years ago. But lovers bearing those names? I am afraid not. Why are they essential to your research?"

"We found an excerpt last winter about the two of them dying together and The Lovers being named in their honor," I explain. "We have no other information but that, but we are sure that there is more. Now that Fayille found some more information to go forward with, I am positive that we will be learning more about them soon."

Oromis nods in understanding. "Ah, it seems like you truly have the calling of a scholar," he says with warm approval. "Jotnar has a warrior's aptitude, like your mother, but let that not distract you from the fact that you must learn the art of war too. You must defend yourself from those who will seek to harm you."

I remember Master Barthfer and Gelfring's broken forms. I was not even able to attend the funeral, still recovering from my injuries. Just hearing Eoran and Tryndemiel talk about it afterward sent me into gutwrenching pain.

"Losing someone is never easy," Oromis says, as if reading my thoughts. "Sometimes, it is inevitable."

I have to get stronger. I want to fight side by side with Brand. I want Mother and Jotnar to see me as someone to be proud of. I want to keep an eye out for Eoran and Larsahin. I want to redeem myself somehow in Sevanna's eyes. I want Oromis to regard me as a fellow Rider, not as a child he must look after. I want to protect Tryndemiel, who has no one else in Doru Araeba.

I want to become the best I could be for the people I love.

* * *

 **A shot update, just a filler to nudge a few things into the direction I want them to take. Especially Kifain, who by the way is a little inspired by my favorite Final Fantasy villain of all time. xD**

 **Eoran is seriously the meekest Rider for now, but he'll be taking levels in badass over the next timeskip in chapter 12, along with Sevanna returning to the story. Did any of you guys miss her? Because I did.**

 **Our heroes will be solving a murder mystery next chapter, but I might update Bloodwar first. Because my stay at the City of Pines gave me tons of ideas to work with. And because apparently a reader doesn't like the fact that I'm focusing on this fic. -_-**

 **Brand definitely was so adorbs as a young dragon, wasn't he? He still is, deep down, in the main storyline.**

 **Read and review, as always! XD I might update on Friday or Sunday.**


	11. A Trail of Blood

**Disclaimer: I don't think I even own my OC's.**

 **WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF A MUTILATED CORPSE IN THIS CHAPTER.**

* * *

 **Chapter 11: A Trail of Blood**

The spring after my seventeenth nameday arrives with the fury of a storm, the likes of which was unheard of in the past twenty years – or so, according to Oromis. Everyone returns from their training cold, wet, and miserable, especially as remnants of the winter chill still linger. Though we found many documents pertaining to the Lovers, Tryndemiel and I are still having a hard time sifting through fact and fiction, and translating words from an archaic form of the common tongue.

I also look forward to my mother's visit, as she mentioned in a previous letter. Apparently Jotnar, who is well into his training, has managed to request some time away to accompany her.

The excitement lingers in the air, but I also sense something sinister stalking the lovely streets of Doru Araeba. A long string of random murders have been reported in the city, but despite the joint forces of the Riders, no one has been apprehended yet.

Eoran has grown reserved. I worry that he still pines for Sevanna. I must find a way to communicate with her and let her know just how sad our friend has grown. I haven't seen Fayille in weeks. He was recalled to Du Weldenvarden, as it seems like there are matters in his House that he needs to see to. I miss the songs that he fills the halls of the tower with.

Under Oromis' tutelage, my swordsmanship improves. He begins teaching me advanced techniques, and also proceeds with teaching me how to use a bow. My ability to read minds and protect mine also develops rapidly. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for magic. I am well-versed in the ancient language and know how to utilize them in spellcasting. Accessing the odd wall in my mind that contains my gift sadly is difficult to coax open. Oromis is patient, though, and does not demand more than what I am capable of.

The storm stops the night before my rest day, and I sense relief from everyone, including Brand. Prey was scarce during such weather.

A beautiful morning greets us all, the city awash with vivid colors despite the fact that grey clouds still line the sky. The dining hall is subdued, the silence punctuated only by the tired yawns of different novices. I find Eoran sitting, oddly enough, with Tryndemiel, who apparently decided to dine in our area instead of the other hall where scholars often ate in. They seem deep in thought, peering at a red book.

They both peer up as I approach them, and my stomach does an odd flip. I know not if it is because of Tryndemiel, Eoran, or both. I sit across the table from them. Eoran beams. "Ah, Ash! We thought you would not wake early, as you returned to the tower later than the rest of us. Tryndemiel says you were not able to meet with him last night."

Tryndemiel himself smiles. "I wante to check on you, but barging into your room might seem inappropriate."

I grin. "Everyone in the tower knows that there is nothing between us, my friend."

His face falls. "Right, right." He points at the mushroom-laden bread on my plate. "Are you going to eat that?"

"Yes," I tell him, now aware that he has an appetite to rival a dragon's.

 _Not me, though,_ Brand tells me.

 _Of course you are special,_ I tell him. _You're always hungry._

By the time we finish our meal, I decide to take a walk in the city while waiting for Brand to finish his hunt. I am aware that there is a murderer loose in the city, but the crimes always happened at night, and I am confident that no one would dare act under broad daylight – especially in a densely crowded city with Riders and dragons on watch.

I barely step into the gardens when I hear a loud yell, though. Someone tall and dark-haired barrels into me. I topple back with a loud huff as arms wrap around my shoulders.

"Ash! I have missed you," Jotnar exclaims, pinning me under his considerable weight.

A smile lights up my face as I push my ridiculous brother off me. "I have missed you too. Brand wants to see you," I tell him.

We stand up and he smiles . "I would love to meet him too. Mother is waiting for us in the Silver Shoe Tavern."

Brand joins us, and he takes a liking to Jotnar immediately. We decide to take a walk instead, so we may spend more time discussing our new lives. He does not talk about his training, which I respect, as the Painted Ones are more elusive than Riders. I suppose they have the right to, as the oldest order among the elves.

I tell him little of my training, though he shows surprise at Oromis' sudden interest in our afairs. "We have exchanged many letters since he took over your tutelage," he explains. "It is not that I don't resent him anymore, but he seems to be trying hard to finally be a father to us."

"About time," I tell him. "He wouldn't have to resort to such methods if he tried to be a father to us since we were children."

 _Your father had reasons,_ Brand reminded us. _It is wise to remember that._

We stop dead near the tavern, where an unusual crowd is gathered by the entrance. There is a low murmur of interest, while a pair of Riders stand by the entrance – and one of them is Oromis, his face even colder than ever. "No. We will not grant entry until the investigation is complete," he says. I can hear a slight quiver in his voice. Glaedr and another dragon circle the area above the tavern.

"What's happening?" Jotnar whispers. "I cannot feel anything inside."

I sigh. "I do not know." I try extending my mind, but I can only sense those from the unguarded crowd.

Oromis catches sight of us and motion for us to approach. I exchange glances with Jotnar as we oblige. Brand lands on the stone roof, rattling it with his weight. Jotnar peers at our father. "What is happening here? Where is mother?"

"Ah, your mother…" Oromis trails off, his eyes gleaming unusually bright. "You have a right to know. Come inside. Brand, please stand guard. Someone may still be lingering."

The three of us stay close together as we enter the inn. Despite the sunlight flowing into the area, I can smell the rusty scent of blood somewhere in the vicinity. "What happened here?" I croak.

Our father does not speak, and merely leads us upstairs, where the scent is stronger. "Is mother part of the investigation, then?" ponders Jotnar.

Oromis opens a door, where the scent is strongest, and the most horrifying scene greets us.

Mother is lying on the bed, which is soaked in her own blood, arms stretched out in a grotesque imitation of an embrace. A massive cross-shaped wound ruined her pale throat. My knees wobble and go weak when I realize that her eyes have been gouged out, and her knees are bent at unnatural angles. There is a gaping hole where her heart used to be. All the people murdered in the city had similar kinds of injuries.

"How?" I whisper. "She is a Rider."

"No one is infallible, not even a Rider," Oromis says. He sits beside Mother, and I realize that his face glistens with tears. "Equipped and prepared correctly, one can take out a Rider by surprise."

"But I was barely away for more than an hour," wails Jotnar. "How could this have happened?"

I fall to my knees, succumbing to the sudden wave of rage that is sweeping away my thoughts. "I will find and kill the perpetrator," I growl. I feel Brand howling his approval in my mind.

"No," Oromis says sharply. "I will not let you. You see how dangerous this person is. Neither of you will walk out of the Tower alone. I will be finding quarters for you while you stay here, Jotnar."

Any protests die in my throat. He is right. If Mother could not fend off her assailant, I will stand no chance.

* * *

The lovely spring weather is now but a cruel joke.

The next few days are hazy. All the evidence have been carefully drawn and preserved in fairths. Father gives me copies of those to keep my thirst for justice sated. Jotnar departs shortly after Mother and Dagoth, who died shortly after her in the middle of his hunt, are laid to rest. Father grants me her black sword, Skumring, and I keep it with me all the time.

Armed with his father's sword Aeryndight, Tryndemiel agreed to forsake his duties as a scholar to escort me around the Tower and the city as needed, at least until the murderer is apprehended. He rarely talks, merely asking if I am fine, which I appreciate. I do not know what to say, but I still seek solace from his presence.

Eoran does not pry about the investigation during mealtimes, which I also appreciate. He whispers his condolences, and admits that he does not know what else to say and do. I tell him just not to change, and to stay safe.

Talking about Mother's death is too hard. I just can't. She was all Jotnar and I had for years. I love her so much, and now that she is gone, it feels like my heart is just an empty hole. Brand understands. He always does, and I love him all the more for it. Our bond is strong enough that there is rarely any need to express our thoughts and feelings with words.

It is nighttime, the last day of training for me this week. Father has been busy since Mother's death, and he mostly gives me work to do in the library or sparring fields while he rushes off headfirst into the investigation. I only have Tryndemiel and Brand for company as I walk to my quarters. I am not sure if I am imagining it, but it feels like there is a cold draft in the halls.

Tryndemiel lingers by the door when I enter with Brand. He doesn't say anything, and simply regards me with concern. "If you need anything of me, just use your scrying mirror," he says.

Something hits me hard all of a sudden with a force of a fiery dragon's breath. I need him. "I need you," I tell him breathlessly. "I need you to stay with me."

"What do you mean?" he asks cautiously.

I pull him closer using his robes and kiss him, not sure if I am doing it right. It takes him a while to respond, and I barely register the stunned look on his face. I bask in his presence, inhaling his cool scent of crushed mint leaves. With a slight flicker of my thoughts, Brand heads out to the balcony, closing the entrance behind him with his tail.

I turn back to Tryndemiel, who has a blazing look in his eyes. "Make me forget, just for tonight," I beg him, unlacing the front of my tunic.

The moment I wake up with the morning sun, a sudden realization hits me. I am a fool for forcing Tryndemiel into this. He is still sleeping beside me, one arm wrapped around my bare waist. I have never been so aware of how beautiful and kind he is. I shouldn't have done this. He will hate me when he wakes, and I have no right to blame him.

Gently wriggling out of his embrace, I complete my morning ablutions as fast as I can. I leave my room before he awakens, and find myself in a nigh-empty dining hall. I can feel Brand's concern, but I ignore it. He can reprimand me all he wants later.

I do not eat, merely satisfying myself with warm milk. I do not notice Oromis until he sits across the table from me, and I can see the dead feeling I have in his eyes. "Father," I say, inclining my head. My voice sounds hollow, empty.

"We found some evidence in one of the places where the murders happened," he tells me. "There is a knife – a curious one – that flickers like a prism. Our smiths determined that it is of dwarven make, and is not sold anywhere in Doru Araeba."

"So we are at a dead end once more," I tell him.

"No." A ghost of a smile flickers in Oromis' features. "There is a black market for dwarven goods in the southern quarter of the city. The area has been under observation for weeks, but now we might have to make a move. We will be investigating the taverns tonight." He blinks and realizes something. "Ash, why are you alone? Where is Tryndemiel? He is supposed to escort you from your room."

"There was a… problem," I tell him, of course unwilling to disclose that he unwillingly spent the night with me. "I will stay with Eoran today until we settle our issues."

There is a knowing look in my father's eyes, and I am sure I did not have him convinced. "Very well. Promise me that you will not do anything foolish."

"I promise," I tell him in the ancient language, while meaning another thing in my mind.

He leaves when the hall begins to fill, and I depart shortly to avoid Eoran, racing against Brand who is on his way back from his hunt. I want to play a part in apprehending my mother's killers. I make my way out of my tower, prowling crowded streets until I reach my destination – the seediest place in the southern quarter – the Winged Stallion Inn.

Few people are inside, especially since it is so early in the morning. There are two men in one corner, one of them polishing a knife – a knife that shines like a prism, even in the dim tavern. None of them give me a second look. Deciding that I need to look good in their eyes before I could start questioning them, I sit at the bar, eyeing the girl cleaning the glasses. "I'll have your best," I tell her, sliding some coins in front of me.

The girl does not even look up and simply gives me a glass of foul yellow stuff that smells like piss. I try hard not to make a face despite the fact that I haven ever drunk anything like it before. The first swig is pleasantly cool, until I gag from the suddenly bitter aftertaste. Oddly, no one still pays me any heed. I take a few more sips, mastering myself.

At first, I don't feel anything at all so I assume that the tavern maid gave me the weakest concoction. I down the glass quickly and am about to ask for another when I suddenly feel my tongue go fuzzy. In terror, I stand and realize that my legs cannot bear my weight. I stagger back in surprise and fall on my backside. Sudden terror overwhelms me, and I try to call on my magic for help. I could not even feel the barrier in my mind, and I wildly grasp around for words in the ancient language. My hand flies to my sword, but something hard hits the back of my head, and the world goes black.

* * *

 **Ash... didn't make smart or sensible decisions this chapter and is grasping idiot ball after idiot ball. She should not make decisions when sad or angry. I think she's a little confused since her feelings for Tryndemiel are blooming at the worst possible time, and she's making the worst decisions because she doesn't know what else to do. Not that it excuses anything, of course.**

 **Seems like she doesn't realize that being dressed in good clothes and looking like a half-elf would help her blend in with a seedy crowd, eh?**

 **This is the most random chapter I've written. Ugh. I don't like it one bit, but we need to advance the story.**

 **Major timeskip occurs in the middle of next chapter, just a heads-up. xD**

 **On the other hand, the bug is finally fixed! Images now loading properly! Yayyy!**

 **And yes, I've been sort of going out with the guy who inspired the character of Tryndemiel. Heehee. We've been best friends for seven years.**

 **Yep, Kifain being smitten by Ash will cause loads of trouble. Yup yup yup!**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	12. Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: I own as much as Jon Snow knows.**

 **First part of this chapter is a possible trigger warning.**

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Lost and Found**

Everything is a dull haze of pain. My head aches, as if it suffered a terrible blow that should have killed me. My arms and legs hurt, and it feels like my body has been contorted to an uncomfortable position. I open my eyes and find myself in a dimly-lit bedroom that reeks of washed blood. I try to use magic, but it seems like I am still drugged. Even Brand's consciousness feels too far from my reach.

I am tied like an animal marked for slaughter, my wrists and ankles constrained with the same thick ropes. Struggling is futile, and I end up with deep welts in my wrists. I bite my lower lip so I could prevent myself from screaming.

In what seems like no time at all, the door opens. I could not see what is outside either, but the barmaid from before steps in, still dressed in her grimy clothes. Behind her is a dwarf in dark clothes and a thick veil – a fashion that is apparently popular with the more reclusive clans.

"There's the elf girl I'm talking about," the barmaid begins.

"Barzul, that is no elf," the dwarf growls in a thick accent reminiscent of visitors to the Tower who came from the more secluded parts of the Beor Mountains. He peers at me, and I glare back, hoping my face does not betray my fear. "I think she's no human either."

I want to spit at him but unfortunately I become aware that a piece of cloth is serving as my gag. I simply watch him as he regards me with hungry eyes. I have a horrible suspicion that he did the same thing to my mother from the shadows. I am sure beyond doubt that he is responsible for her death.

"Rather younger and riper than usual, but beautiful nonetheless," he concludes, eyeing the barmaid. "And I did not even have to stalk anyone this time. Most interesting."

He strides forward and roll me over on my back, my body heavy against my restrained limbs. His dark eyes gleam. "I don't defile children in bed," he growls. "But it doesn't mean I can't bring pain." He pulls out a knife – a blade that gleams like a prism – and uses it to deftly cut my tunic down the middle. "Should I cut out your eyes first?" he asks. "So you could not guess what I will do next? I can break your legs first, so you could feel the pleasurable agony as I cut the rest of your body open. Or if you want a quick and easy death, I could cut off your heart and be done with it."

I try struggling, but it does not do any good and simply makes him laugh. "I hate it when they fight. I want to see you beg," he growls, putting his face near my ear. "You're just like that Rider woman from before. She was as defiant as you, and I barely enjoyed taking her life. She did not even cry."

Rage flared in me, and I gnash my teeth against my gag while I growl. How dare he speak of my mother? I am about to try struggling against my bonds harder when the door flies open. Oromis marches in, two unfamiliar Riders and a terrified Tryndemiel right behind him. In the split second before they could release any spell they might be casting, the dwarf plunges his knife into my chest.

Pain blinds me. I could barely breathe, and I am sure that I'm going to die soon. I hear noises around me, but it is drowned out by the overwhelming fear that I am about to lose my life. I feel someone hold me, but everything seems to be so far away. Everything fades in a rush of incoherrent sensations.

Over what feels like the next few days, I slip in and out of consciousness multiple times. First, I awaken in the infirmary, still in terrible pain. I could hear Brand roaring in agony somewhere to my left. My father is sleeping in a nearby bed, while a group of Riders clad in white watch over me. One of them says something I could not understand, and I slip away again.

The next time I wake, my fathr is standing by the door, talking quietly to Tryndemiel. Brand's head is visible through the window. I try to contact him, but my head feels hazy and I barely keep my consciousness for a few seconds more.

I remember bits and pieces of the next few days, but nothing forms anything that I can comprehend.

When I finally wake properly, I am still in the infirmary. No one is in the room with me, which is odd, but I suppose Brand is off hunting and my father is also busy with his duties as an Elder Rider. I feel immense hunger, and I am not surprised by it at all. I was unconscious for probably a handful of days, and healing magic takes a toll. I can still feel pain in my chest, which seems to still be wrapped by bandages.

I should be thankful that I'm alive. It doesn't matter if they did not fully heal me. After all, such an act takes a toll on both the healers and the patient, and I don't have that much strength in my body. My feeble attempts at magic during my lessons is enough proof of that.

Still lost in my thoughts, the sound of the door opening takes me by surprise. Tryndemiel steps in, looking wary as he realizes that I am awake. "Are you with us now?" he says quietly, eyes sad and distant like the first time we met.

"I suppose I am," I tell him.

He smiles tightly, and I'm afraid that he is still angry with me. He slips out of the room quietly before returning with a tray of food. He sets it down on the bedside table and sits on a vacant bed. Neither of us speak, and we merely watch each other. My stomach growls, the sound magnified in the awkward silence.

"You do not look strong enough yet. Do you want me to spoonfeed you?" he asks ever so innocently.

I make a face and turn away. It seems like he really is mad. I stay quiet instead, my insides roiling with guilt. My fists clench around my blankets.

"Forgive me," he continues. "I could not refuse, not for someone important to me. That is my weakness: I cannot say no. But please, do not be angry with me."

"It was my choice," I point out.

He frowns. "But I defiled you."

"I forced you to," I whisper. "I promised to be your family, and I all but take advantage of you."

He smiles. "I could never refuse the demands of people important to me," he murmurs. "It is also why I agreed to depart for Ellesmera next week."

I nearly sit up, but the pain I'm in prevents me from doing anything. "Why?" I yell.

"I can't say no to Tear. She offered to introduce me to the rest of House Rilvenar and train me in the art of war." Tryndemiel leans forward and lays his hand over my faintly thrumming heart. I shudder as he touches my wound. He closes his eyes and pauses for a moment. "Ash, I know you understand more than everyone. I want to meet my family. I want to know where I came from. Besides, someone nearly died in my arms. I want to make sure it does not happen again, and training is the best way to achieve that. It is like, ah, how do the humans say it? It's like hitting two birds with one stone?"

"Yes," I say weakly.

"It might take years, but I'll return." He smiles. "I'm not going to continue my work on the night sky until we reunite, I promise. Wiol ono." For you.

"I will hold you to that," I tell him.

Tryndemiel leaves on a lovely spring morning, leaving his favorite cloak behind for me to keep as a memento. I give him a sword belt so he does not have to carry Aeryndight slung across his back. He kisses my forehead and repeats his promise to return, this time in the ancient language.

It takes some time, but I recover completely from my injuries. The Tower feels quiet and empty without my closest friend, despite the fact that Eoran still keeps me company for most meals. I don't feel a shiver of excitement when I see him anymore. It feels like recent events have sucked out my infatuation and replaced it with a simple but comfortable friendship. I don't mind. It is actually quite nicer than being smitten with someone who would never reciprocate.

Another two years pass this way, with no word from Tryndemiel. I supose he is quite busy, but I am also afraid that he does not want to have anything to do with me anymore. I decide not to write to him or scry him, afraid of what I would see or learn. During this time, I master the sword and bow while making progress with magic. My strength builds up as I reach maturity, my body slowly but surely growing to match the prowess of an average elf as my appearance also begins to appear timeless. Father is pleased, as he feared that I would be subjected to the same limits as human Riders until I reach the peak of my strength as a Rider.

I finish the stage of tuatha du orothrim in my training just two weeks shy of my nineteenth nameday, and meet with the smith Rhunon on the same day. Her forge is in a secluded part of the city, well away from curious and overwhelming crowds. She is the least elf-like elf I have met, as she dislikes formalities, is quite open with her emotions, and is excessively blunt to the point of insensitivity. I like her.

All the Riders in Doru Araeba who have completed the tuatha du orothrim this winter are formally presented with their swords on the last day of the year. I receive my blade, which I name Caliburn. Eoran receives his weapon too, which he names Arvindr. Our weapons look very similar, except for the color. Mine is of the darkest blue, like Brand, a sapphire of the same color set on the pommel. Arvindr is a deep violet, almost black, an amethyst of the same blade adorning it.

I am hailed as Ash the Courageous, which is most probably a way for them to call me reckless without offending me. Eoran is hailed as the Gentle, which does fit him, in a way.

Many of my peers are to relocate with new masters next week for the next part of their training. I stay with Oromis, as he originally planned to take after my tutelage once I finish this stage – at least until Master Barthfer's death changed everything. We are going to depart for Ilirea though, and I am surprised to find that I am dreading it.

Eoran and Larsahin will be there, which is a relief, but so will Kifain. I fear that he will do something rash should he find out what happened between Tryndemiel and me. Fortunately the secret is kept only between the two of us, though I have a nagging feeling that Oromis knows of it too.

We reach Ilirea after three days of relentless travel. I am pleased to see that not much has changed on the outside. With a pang, the realization suddenly hits me – I won't see Mother nor her dragon waiting for me at the Blue Complex. I can't expect Jotnar to jump out of a random hallways either. We won't even be living in the Complex anymore either, as mentors and pupils live in the White Tower itself.

All the dragon and Rider pairs in the outpost stand at the ready to greet us.

I spot a two that are horribly, painfully familiar – Sevanna and Chelhamen.

* * *

 **Sorry for the schedule slips! The accident did not do me any favors and I have to work on getting my knee working properly and painlessly again. I'll be back to regular updates by next week.**

 **Yep, Ash was a reckless idiot and nearly paid for it with her life. At least the T-man ain't mad, though. XD**

 **And Sevanna is back! Did you guys miss her? They'll be having the big confrontation (but not really) next chapter, which contains no Tryndemiel.**

 **Do you think Eoran and Sevanna will reunite in good terms too?**

 **Read and review, as always!**

 **PS: I seriously love it when you guys notice mistakes that my brother doesn't. Thank you so much!**


	13. In the Embers

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in here. Unfortunately.**

* * *

 **Chapter 13: In the Embers**

I never expected to see Sevanna and her dragon here in Ilirea, of all places. Last I heard of them, they were in Gil'ead as their masters were reassigned to act as head the warrior Riders situated in there. Now they're here, and I still am not prepared to confront Sevanna about the events of a particular summer almost four years ago.

Her gaze follows us as we are welcomed to Ilirea by the head of the outpost, and servants show us to our rooms. I exchange nervous glances with Eoran, who trails off with thae other male Riders while I am left with Brand to fend for ourselves. I wrap my cloak – Tryndemiel's cloak – around myself to stave off the lingering chill that winter has left upon the early spring air. I feel my heart twist as I think of him, and what may be preventing him from writing to me.

I hope he hasn't found a lover yet.

The room I am assigned with resembles the one I had in Doru Araeba, though it is smaller and much cozier. The other bed appears to be rumpled, so I suppose I will have a room mate again. I take time to arrange my possessions in the cabinet, closet, and wardrobe provided to me. I keep Caliburn and my mother's sword Skumring with me, though. After everything that happened during my stay in Doru Araeba, I can never be too sure. I keep Tryndemiel's cloak with me too, as it provides a measure of comfort and an odd feeling of safety.

"Admirably beautiful cloak, and I am sure I know where it came from." I haven't heard Sevanna enter. She has learned a thing or two about stealth, it seems. "Is Tryndemiel your lover now?"

Brand growls, but Chelhamen remains calm. How curious.

"I haven't heard from him for two years," I tell her.

"Oh." Sevanna's face falls. "I thought he would have confessed to you once I was out of the way."

"What do you mean?" I ask, fire coursing through my body.

She closes the door behind her and sits on the other bed. "I do confess, it seems like I have made a grave mistake in cutting all ties with you. I thought it would be better, though, and spare all of us the pain and disappointments."

"I know not what you are talking about."

She makes a face. "On the night before we were sent to the south, I tried to seduce Tryndemiel. I thought he would give in, as I was older than he, and a Rider. He knew of my interest in him since we first met, and I was confident that I was beautiful enough to convince him."

"You are beautiful," I admit. The most beautiful novice Rider in Doru Araeba, and now, Ilirea. I had not even a tenth of her beauty, now enhanced by the subtle elven features that are beginning to manifest on her.

"I was a fool, Ash. He refused, and now I know I had no right to blame him. He sent me away from his study. On that day though, I was so enraged, I shouted and begged. He was firm, and told me there was someone he was starting to have feelings for. You."

Me? "He was probably trying to make excuses," I say with a small laugh.

Sevanna shakes her head. "I did think back, and I remember how he looked at you whenever he and his fellow scholars were in the dining hall. Even Fayille said as much the next day, when I told him everything. You must remember walking in on our conversation in our room. I felt guilty, especially when I factored in your infatuation with Eoran, and his infatuation with me. I realized that I would cause too much trouble. After we returned from the mission, despite you saving my life, I agreed to follow my teacher to Gil'ead, despite earning my new blade and the right to choose a new teacher. I stayed in touch with only Fayille, afraid of your wrath and disgust should Tryndemiel disclose what happened. I thought – I thought that by the time Fayille left for Du Weldenvarden, you have finally heard of the scholar's growing affections for you."

Tryndemiel felt… something for me. If what Sevanna is saying is true, then it explains most of his actions – but not why I haven't heard from him for two years.

"It does not matter now," I assure Sevanna. "I feel nothing of any sort but friendship for Eoran, and it seems like Tryndemiel has forgotten about me." I have thought about him far more today than the rest of the past year combined, and the effort hurts. I feel my eyes water. "Are we still friends?"

"We are," she says softly, and wraps her arms around me. We weep together for a time, lamenting the folly of our pasts, and the friendships we have lost. "Oh, Ash, I have missed you. I am so, so sorry for everything."

"You must also talk to Eoran," I whisper. "He was most upset."

She nods. "I know. I must apologize to him too." She stands, preparing to leave. "Oh, and Ash? I don't think Tryndemiel has forgotten about you."

* * *

With our friendships rekindled, the seasons come and go with blazing speed. My studies go much easier, and I am pleased to see that Eoran and Sevanna are starting to be more than fond of each other. I see Kifain more frequently, often with a sullen glow in his eyes. I know not what he is thinking, but I am glad that he is staying away from me and my friends.

Five, ten, fifteen, eighteen years – Sevanna finishes her training and departs to see the world before she reports to Doru Araeba to pursue the field of her choosing.

The last two years of my training grows harder and harder, as the bond between Brand and I intensifies to the point wherein withdrawing our thoughts grows even more of a challenge with each passing day. I am Ash, he is Brand, and we are still one.

I never hear from Tryndemiel, and despite Sevanna's assurance, I am sure that he has forgotten about me.

At last, the last day of my training arrives. Oromis meets me, as always, under a tree just by the outskirts of Ilirea, mounted upon Glaedr. He watches me with eyes glowing in pride. "Daughter, you have grown so much," he says as we arrive. "I have taught you everything I can, and I can assure you that you have learned it all in a favorable speed. There is nothing more we can instruct you in. All further learning you may still look for, you must seek alone with Brand."

Unfortunately, despite his efforts, I never learned to fight with a lance, nor with a dagger, nor defend with a shield perfectly. I am glad that I mastered my mother's way with two swords in exchange, of course.

"I am afraid that I still am not the at par with those who will be departing to see the land tomorrow," I admit.

He smiles. "Believe me when I say that being an Elder's pupil has its merits. You had so much potential, and I have molded you as much as I can. You have surpassed everyone's expectations, and I am confident that you are among the best of those who will be departing tomorrow."

I bow, unable to argue with him. "As you say, Father."

He inclines his head. "Ash, I know that you have not been in contact with Tryndemiel for the past twenty-two years. And I know that you forced him to sleep with you."

I raise an eyebrow and glare at Brand. _Did you tell him about that night?_

 _No! Do I have any reason to do so?_ He shoots back.

Oromis chuckles. "Tryndemiel told me about it when I was unconscious. Do not fear. I was not harsh with him, and never did I once bring it up, as I was assured that you have learned from your mistake. Now, I have received a message from his sister, Gale. He is on his way to Gil'ead, and I think it would be a good idea to start your travels there."

I feel my knees go weak, like a terrified child. "What if he does not wish to see me anymore?"

"He will." A ghost of a smile flickers on his face. "I want you to live and love."

* * *

I leave Ilirea the next day in a wave of summer heat. There is a little ceremony for those of us who have completed our training. We depart shortly after our midday meal – Eoran to Lithgow, where Sevanna is studying local customs, and me to Gil'ead, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tryndemiel and some closure.

It takes me less than a day to reach the great capital of the Broddring Kingdom, and I arrive early next morning, in the midst of a great festival to celebrate the name day of the new king, Galdreth. The streets are filled with hawkers and performers and revelers. It is almost as lovely as Doru Araeba two decades ago, and definitely as bright. Crowds part as Brand and I approach, most of them bowing hurriedly and murmuring their greetings. A few other dragon and Rider pairs wander around, enjoying the festivities.

How am I to find someone in such a crowd?

I hear talk of a tourney, the last day which will be held at dusk, and will be attended by a number of knights and lords throughout the land. I hear that even Prince Avhan made it successfully to this point, and a sudden urge to watch overwhelms me. It might also be a good way to meet the human royal family.

 _But what about your search for him?_ Brand asks.

 _Either I will find him, or I will not,_ I reply, though I wish for him to find me instead.

We eat in a secluded dining area, vigilantly watching for any trouble that these kinds of saturnalias could cause. Luckily no brawl comes up, but sadly I catch no glimpse of someone with dark brown hair and vivid honey eyes.

I listen to gossip, but it is mainly about how the prince is betrothed to a southern noblewoman despite some expectations from a lord in Teirm that his daughter would wed into the royal family. Not even the unguarded minds in the area let me glean any information about Tryndemiel, or any other news of importance.

I eventually leave and enjoy the festivities as much as I can.

By the time dusk arrives, Brand lets the crowd sweep us into the great jousting fields where the tourney is to be held. Brand departs to join his fellow dragons, while the Riders from the outpost who have arrived to watch pull me into their ranks, and I find myself seated at the very edge of the spectators' area.

A sudden blanket of anticipation covers the crowd as the first jousters of the night emerge from opposing sides. To my left is a tall, muscular man clad in heavy armor dyed all black. His cloak bears the vivid colors of southern cities, and his lance and shield are both painted accordingly. He is introduced as Lord Mansel of Teirm as his massive black warhorse whinnies.

On the opposite side is a slightly shorter, slender man, clad in blue-green light armor. His helm reveals none of his features. His cloak is a plain one the color of golden honey. His lance is the color of his armor, and a wolfhound in a field of white is painted on his shield. His chestnut horse is as slender as its master. They introduce him simply as the Knight of the Snowclad Hound.

 _Lightly armored and with a steed like that, I do not think he will last long,_ I muse.

Brand shares his amusement to me. _Oh, we should wait and see. He might outsmart his foe yet. After all, he made it to this final night, did he not?_

The king raises his hand, and a trumpet blares, signaling the start of the joust. The two combatants circle each other, lances at the ready. Mansel and his steed charge first, and the Knight deftly maneuvers to sidestep him. The southern lord rears and charges again, while the Knight immitates him this time. Instead of evading, he uses his shield to parry the blow. They disengage and circle once more.

They engage, and the Knight strikes this time. He is lithe and fast, but his foe is as heavy and as steady as a rock. He nearly topples off his horse and steadies himself in time. He lowers his head and charges again. The two jousters meet, the heavily-garbed Lord against the agile Knight. This time, the mysterious jouster gains ground, using his foe's weight against him. Lord Mansel is not quick enough to parry, and he falls off his horse.

More than half of the crowd yells insults, while a small portion cheers. The Knight holds out his hand for Mansel, who raises the visor of his helm and spits at the supposed kindness. The victor turns away and rides off, clearing the way for the next pair.

Mansel follows afterward at a trot, dragging his horse behind him.

The next pair includes Prince Avhan, clad in armor of gleaming gold. His purple cloak is embroidered with golden threads depicting the sigil of House Broddring – a pair of rearing falcons facing each other. His shield and lance are both made of gold too, as if to display the wealth of his family. His stallion is a dazzling white. I can't say that it's tasteful.

He unseats his foe – a minor lord from Dras Leona – without much struggle, and I wonder whether they simply wish to humor their prince.

I watch the jousters take the field, and every now and then, the Knight and Prince Avhel emerge victorious against the foes pitted against them, whipping the crowd into an almost mindless frenzy. Even the human Riders seated around me cheer and jeer at the combatants of their choice as the Tourney runs well into the night.

Finally it is only the two of them left – the prince and the Knight.

The crowd cheers madly for the warriors of choice, and I find myself gripping the edge of the makeshift railing that separates us from the jousting field. I am sure that the Knight will not show the leniency that the other men have shown the prince, for some reason. Their horses dance around each other.

Prince Avhan hefts his lance and charges first. The Knight barely has time to parry it, and the crowd jeers at him. They engage and disengage multiple times, but I see neither of them gain advantage – or maybe that's just because I'm not really well-versed in jousting.

The jousters' lances meet again, and the Knight barely keeps his seat. Avhan, clad in the heavier armor, falls from his horse with a resounding clang. Silence falls upon the entire field as the tourney comes to a close. The cheers are scattered, as not everyone wants to show pleasure over their prince's loss. The Knight bends down to lend a hand to Avhan, but the prince slaps it away and stalks off, leaving his horse behind him.

The Knight circles the field once, to a sudden explosion of cheers. He uses his lance to pick up a wreath of deep red roses from the corner of the field where he entered for this last match. It is time for him to crown the Lady of the Roses.

The women in the crowd fall silent, leaning forward in anticipation and murmuring in excitement, finding this mystery knight intriguing. He circles the field once more and stops right in front of me. We are close enough for me to see through the holes in his visor and I see that his eyes are the right color – but the shape is too wrong. They are not canted like Tryndemiel's, and disappointment floods me.

I smile and thank him still. I see his eyes gleam behind his helm, and he turns away, urging his horse to leave despite the tumultous cheering still raging around us.

 _Brand, I need to follow him. He may be a cousin that our friend is visiting here,_ I say.

 _He may be, or maybe just someone with the same eyes._ Brand does seem intrigued, though. _I don't think he gave you that crown just because you are fairest of all, though. It is worth a try._

I stumble through the crowd that is converging upon me, wishing to ask questions about the mysterious Knight. I parry them and reunite with Brand at the edge of the crowd. I have to find the Knight. He will lead me to my objective – Tryndemiel.

* * *

 **Timeskips galore! Like I said, this fic will be ridiculously long if we cover the entire 130 years leading up to the Fall. We'll properly hang out with Fayille, Sev and Eoran in Chapter 15, though.**

 **The latter half of this chapter was partially inspired by A Song of Ice and Fire. xD**

 **I've planned this reunion since Sevanna left, and unfortunately I'm not satisfied with it. Or the rest of the chapter, as a matter of fact.**

 **Glaedr must've killed a lot of little animals by accident when Ash got hurt. And probably nearly poked Glaedr's eye out, too.**

 **Breaking hearts? Yep, as a story that leads to the Fall, we'll get to lots of heartbreak in here. Gahhhh!**

 **Shall we update Bloodwar soon, or proceed to Chapter 14? *wink wink nudge nudge***

 **Read and review, as always!**


	14. Astronomy in Reverse

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sadly.**

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Astronomy in Reverse**

Wreath of flowers still resting on my brow, Brand and I take to the skies, the cold night wind caressing my face. With the thick crowd leading to and away from the jousting field, I lose sight of the Knight for a while. He rides straight into the city, and we follow him as he weaves through street after street. He looks up only once, as if to acknowledge our presence and make sure that we're still pursuing him. He forges on into the Rose Maze – a lovely garden at the southern edge of Gil'ead. The rosebush hedges will not give my dragon enough space to land.

 _Hurry on,_ Brand says. _I will follow from above, and if he tries to hurt you he will burn._

I nod and wrap my arms around as his neck – or at least try to. He has fully grown now, and with him so does our bond. _Thank you._

Making sure my swords are easily in reach, I move forward through the shadowy maze, devoid of people now that night has truly settled. With my enhanced sight, I could see him mounted on his horse, and moves through the maze as if to guide me. We march in silence for a while, weaving through the maze until we reach the central clearing. His horse stops right beside the rose bush that is bursting with flowers of all colors – a gift from the elves.

He moves, as if to remove his helm, but before he could… his stallion bucks all of a sudden and throws him off the saddle. I stiffle my laughter, afraid to offend him. He stands up and turns to the horse as if to glare at it. He dusts himself and faces me once more. He lifts off his helm to reveal his face.

He is a young human.

He has the right shade of hair, cut short the way I remembered. The honey eyes are not canted like a wolf's. The shape of his face is definitely human, more angular, stubble on his chin and around his lips. The way one side of his full lips lift up in a smile, and his slightly upturned nose, are painfully familiar.

"You barely changed, Ash Svit-kona," he murmurs. The voice is deeper, older, fuller, but the same.

I tilt my head. "Pardon?"

"Ah, I suppose the trying to grow a beard doesn't suit me, eh?" He smiled beatifically, and murmurs a few things in the ancient language. His appearance changes subtly before my very eyes. The stubble on his faces crumbles away like powder. His features become smoother and fairer, his ears abecoming pointed once more. His wolflike eyes stare at me with mirth. "Unfortunately this is the most I can use my magic for but it's much better! Now, do you remember me?"

"Tryndemiel," I all but breathe.

He glares at his steed before closing the distance between us. "I was afraid that you have forgotten about me, Ash. Twenty-two years, and no letters? No scrying messages?"

"I could say the same thing about you," I growl. I resist the urge to punch his smiling face.

He looks upset, though. "Your father made me promise not to make contact until you finish your training. He seems to think I am starting to distract you. That is why I waited until Fayille found out from Sevanna that your training is almost finished. I headed for Gil'ead and contacted your father. He agreed to let you know of my whereabouts. I did not really expect you to arrive, especially as I have ignored you for more than two decades."

"I wanted closure," I admit. "And I wanted to see you again."

"I did hope, you know. I joined the Tourney as a mystery knight to draw you out in case you did arrive. I hoped you were curious enough. I did leave clues. My armor has the same color as Aeryndight. My cloak matched my eyes. And the wolfhound on my shield." He smiles. "I still wear that pendant."

I smile, and I feel Brand's pleasure too. "Father has a lot to answer for, but don't mind that tonight. We must catch up on everything we've missed. Tell me: who taught you how to joust?"

He shrugs. "Fayille. He studied it during his stay in Doru Araeba. I am not as good as he, but against humans being a half-elf has its advantages."

"You were cheating," I point out.

"Aye." He laughs and uses a spell to appear human once more. "I was showing off. Unfortunately my horse hates me."

His steed whinnies, as if in agreement.

We return to Gil'ead, talking about what happened in the past years. People stare at us, the Knight of the Snowclad Hound and Rider he crowned as the Lady of the Roses. He leaves his horse in a stable and joins me atop Brand, his arms around my waist. Oh, how I missed it. We talk of the years we've lost – his stay with Tear, the elves' lukewarm acceptance of him, my struggles with my training, and Sevanna. I could not help but bring it up, wondering how much of it was true.

"My affections for you were growing by then," he agrees. "Not to the point of love yet at that time, but Ash, I did not want to sleep with her."

"Well, at least she knows she's capable of seducing lesser men," I tell him. "I probably still can't seduce a rock."

"You seduced me," he purrs against my ear.

I elbow him as hard as I can and end up with a bruise. He chuckles softly as we land in front of the inn where he is staying. "Do you have a place to spend the night in? I could offer you my bed, and I'll sleep on the floor," he says. "Your trip must have exhausted you."

I shrug. "I'll find a place. You do not have to give up your bed on account of me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Everywhere else is full because of the festival."

I do end up sharing his room, with Brand forced to stay outside since the building is not made the accommodate dragons. I do not want to stay in the outpost, unwilling to intrude upon the Riders' hospitality so late in the night.

I sit down on the bed, watching him polish his armor and lance. Aeryndight is propped up by the bed, beside my own swords. He glances back every now and then and smiles, and I can't help but smile back. I have missed him too much.

"So, have you found a lover in Ilirea?" he asks nonchalantly. "Oromis was not specific in his letter."

"I haven't." I don't tell him that it is partly because of the odd feelings I have for him. "And you?"

He shrugs. "I don't really like elves. Besides, there was this girl in Doru Araeba." He turns red. "Ah, you don't want to hear about that."

I find myself forcing him to share the bed with me. It would reflect poorly of me if I let him sleep on the floor. Despite my fears that it would bring up unwanted memories of forcing him to sleep with me, I am actually quite comfortable with his back pressed against mine.

I awake with my arms around his waist, and his arms around mine. I know not how we ended up in that position, but I can feel Brand's amusement in my head. _What?_ I ask.

 _I would understand your awkwardness, have you not slept with him before,_ my dragon replies sleepily. _Why do you not tell him of your feelings?_

 _That would be unseemly. If a man has feelings for a woman, then he must make the first step_ , I explain. _It is how it works among human society._ Despite my aversion to meat, I still identify more as a human than an elf. _What I did all those years ago was a mistake._

Tryndemiel groans and shifts a little. Despite being smitten with Eoran for years, I've never felt my heart hammer away like it does now. I close my eyes, simply enjoying the warmth, afraid to move and wake him up.

"Well, this is embarassing," he murmurs, jolting me out of my thoughts. I nearly jump off the bed when I realize that he is actually awake. His eyes watch me with caution and amusement mixed together. He withdraws his arms from my waist and sits up, hair tousled from sleep. "Well, you've seen Gil'ead. What are your plans after this?"

I smile. "I want to visit the outpost. They have every book in castle and more. Maybe we could start researching while we travel the land. We can't just be confined in Doru Araeba."

He smiles back at me. "Are you truly willing to work with me? I'm sure that there's a lot more you can do now that you are a full-fledged Rider."

I laugh and shake my head. "I've decided since that first time you introduced me to your work. I want to help you continue it – learn more about the stars at night, know how our ancestors perceived them, discover things that no one ever bothered to look for."

He raises his brows as he heads to the dressing chamber. "Oh, and there I was thinking that you actually wanted my company."

"I do want you – and your company," I say quickly. "I'd never have survived the first two years in Doru Araeba had it not been for your presence."

"And know that I'd follow you anywhere you want, Ash Svit-Kona," he says before excusing himself to get dressed.

Our meal is delivered straight to our room, on account of Tryndemiel 's wishes to hide his identity. He is dressed once more in his armor, his cloak draped across his lap and his helm on the bed. The wreath of roses hang from my pack, preserved by a small spell I have learned early in my training. I am the Lady of the Roses of this festival, and I shall bear the name proudly.

People stare at us as we enter the common room – the Knight and the Rider he crowned as the Lady of the Roses. They must have thought we have slept together. Too bad it happened more than two decades ago. I nod and smile to them, and wait as he pays for the room. We part ways for the time being, him to sell his horse – who tries to kick him as we approach – and me to buy some human clothes to better blend in crowds when necessary.

Brand is off hunting, as he hasn't eaten for two days now. I already miss him. Despite the strength of our bond, his physical presence is still better for me.

With so many minds in the city, picking out what is wrong would be difficult unless there is a harmful intent directed toward me or Brand. Trying to read every mind specifically would render me incapable of functioning – a lesson I've learned a few years into my training. I am aware that someone nearby seeks my presence though, and I put my guard up as I approach the owner of the thoughts.

It is Prince Avhan, clad in his resplendent armor. His helm is off though, revealing his face – which I am seeing for the first time. He is fairly young, and probably has not seen twenty winters yet. His hair is fair, making his deep violet eyes almost glow with a mad intensity that I've only seen once before – on Kifain. "Well-met, lady Rider," he murmurs. "I am Avhan of the Broddring dynasty. I'm afraid there was no time to be acquainted yesterday, after everything that transpired. I am here to tell you that the Knight who dishonored you yesterday has been apprehended."

"Dishonored? Apprehended?" I feel the ground spin beneath me, and I clench my fists. I do not want to cause a scene, nor offend him. Was he truly delusional to think that I left the field because I was angry? I actually tried to seek out the Knight. "Please show him to me, Your Grace. There is much to be discussed."

He leads me to a small shopping district, where a few warriors form a lose circle around Tryndemiel, who is on his knees. An arrow is protruding from his side. I let out a cry and run to him. "What have you done?" I wail.

I could feel him panting and heaving softly while the guards part to let me pass. I press my hand against his side. I slowly use magic to coax the arrow out and close his wound.

"He humiliated me and dishonored you, Rider," the Prince continues. "I thought it appropriate to arrest him."

"He is my lover," I lie through my teeth, looking up at him. I could feel my eyes watering though. "He did it all for me, Your Grace. Please do not hold it against him. I did not know who he was until after the Tourney, either."

Rage fills Prince Avhan's face. "Arrest them both," he growls.

* * *

 _Come a little closer flicker in flight_  
 _We'll have about an inch space but I'm here_  
 _I can breathe in what you breathe out_

 _Let me know if I'm doing this right_  
 _Let me know if my grips too tight_  
 _Let me know if I can stay all of my life_  
 _Let me know if dreams can come true_  
 _Let me know if this one's yours too_  
 _Coz I see it_  
 _And I feel it right here_  
 _And I feel you right here_

 _The vacuous night steps aside_  
 _To give meaning to_  
 _Gemini's dreaming_  
 _The moon on it's back and the seemingly_  
 _Veiled rooms lit_  
 _By the same star_

 _\- Gemini, Spongecola [The Romeo and Juliet Experience]_

* * *

 **Just had to satisfy my thirst for fluff and trouble, I'm sorry. xD**

 **Just a heads-up, Bloodwar will be the next update.**

 **I hope I did their reunion some justice. Unfortunately it seems like I'm starting to turn Tryndemiel's clumsiness into a running gag (that might appear in Bloodwar too, eh?)**

 **One more chapter in Gil'ead, then another timeskip. Someone from the main series will be debuting soon. Who do you think is it, and how? XD Our new pair might also catch up with Eoran and Sevanna soon. And do you guys want to see Fayille? He'll be in Bloodwar soon. Real soon.**

 **And I'm sorry, I just had to include the song above since it inspired this chapter. Teehee.**

 **Oops, too much rambling. Read and review, as always!**


	15. Billion Little Pieces Pulled into Focus

**Disclaimer: For crying out loud! XD**

* * *

 **Chapter 15: A Billion Little Pieces Pulled into Focus**

We stand back to back, Tryndemiel and I. He keeps his helm on, and I am thankful for that. The less who know his appearance, the better for us. I feel Brand's alarm, but I ask him to stay away. We'll settle this on our terms, and I don't want to cause too much of a scene here in Gil'ead, of all places. Nervously, I try to reach out to Tryndemiel's mind, and am surprised that he offers no resistance.

 _A-Ash?_ He sounds nervous. Well, he should.

 _You didn't even try to protect your mind,_ I snap as Avhan snaps out orders to bind us.

The soldiers relieve us of our weapons – my swords, his lance and blade – and tie our hands with ropes. Honestly, I could burn those off or actually tear them off with enough effort, but I don't want to cause too much trouble.

 _We always end up in trouble,_ Tryndemiel points out. _And I'm sorry, the mental arts have always been difficult._

 _We'll remedy that later._ I let out a deep breath as we are slowly marched to the castle at the other end of the city. _Please do not resist. I think it would be best if we follow the law and appeal directly to the king._

I feel overwhelming trust from him, and something else that I can't quite place – something akin to a fiery kind of affection. It is very, very familiar. _Look, if you have a better idea, go ahead and tell me._ I shouldn't be the one thinking up ways out of sticky situations. I'm Ash the Reckless, and I bring nothing but trouble.

 _Trouble, aye._ Tryndemiel's memories flash through our sudden bond, showing me the nights we spent studying. _I like that. So, the story is we're lovers, eh? I think such a news would reach the Rider outpost here, and your father in Ilirea._

In spite of the situation, I feel myself smile. It doesn't sound so bad. _Well, I don't really mind._ I smile. _It should be hair-raising, though._

A child-like kind of expectation burns through his thoughts, blinding me to everything else in his mind. Something stirs in my heart, but I know not what it is. Tryndemiel is quick to sense it. _I think we must talk later, when there is time._

Unfortunately, instead of taking us to the king for whatever judgement that needs to be done, Prince Avhan throws a fit and we end up in the dungeons instead. At least he lacked foresight, and we share the same cell. There is only one bed, and it looks like whatever is in there will nibble us to bones by evening. I mutter a few spells to at least clean it, and we sit down and face each other.

"So, what now?" he asks in a low voice. He begins to remove his heavy armor, revealing the crumpled clothing underneath.

 _Brand, stay close, but cause no trouble,_ I call out.

I could feel him seething at the fringes of my mind. _I want to tear that prince from limb to limb._

 _You mustn't,_ I insist. _We must abide by the laws of this land, else we are no better than common criminals._

"Everyone will be assuming that we're lovers, so I suppose we need to play the part whenever someone else is in the vicinity," I finally say out loud with a grin.

Tryndemiel turns white, then red. "But that would be inappropriate," he stammers.

"We'll need to play that part. Like I said, we'll appeal directly to the king. See? You are a lovestruck knight who wished to impress his lady." I feel myself turning red at his discomfort too.

He looks away. "I am a lovestruck knight who wished to impress his lady," he murmurs.

"I'm sorry. You must be uncomfortable," I mutter.

He glances up with a smile. "Forgive me. I was just trying to internalize our plan." There's something else in his face, and I am sorely tempted to look into his mind again. "So, what do we do while we wait for someone to grant this audience you seek with the king?"

"I train you to protect your mind, of course."

He wasn't jesting when he said that he has no talent in defending his thoughts. I worry for him. He is a good jouster, and it seems like he has never stopped howning his skills with the sword, but against someone with a gift for reading minds, he would be helpless – and I can't always be around to guard his thoughts.

I keep sensing the odd emotions again from him, and this time I finally figure out why the sensation is so familiar – because I feel it all the time from Brand. There's also the reluctance to protect his mind from me – as if he is afraid of something terrible that might happen.

 _Am I that dangerous to you?_ I ask. _I would never hurt you._

 _I know,_ he says, and I break through the flimsy defense he is starting to work on.

I am awash in his memories. I am aware that he is sharing them to me freely, and this time I do not pull away.

 _He was seven or eight, wide eyes staring at the mirror in horror while his mother ranted about his father again, how much of a fool he was to let himself be killed by a rogue Rider and dragon that he was trying to apprehend. The child understood half of what his mother said, but the biggest thing that made an impact on him is his mother's screams about how much having a child is a burden now that House Rilvenar has refused to acknowledge either of them._

 _I see flashes of his mother's screams and rants, and I feel afraid for the young child who grew up to be my friend._

 _He was ten years old. His mother forced him to accompany her on an errand in the Hall of Elders, and he slipped out while she was busy talking to Elder Vrael. He could see the wise elf's eyes follow him, but was thankful that he made no comments._

 _He found himself in the library. The number of books in the place overwhelmed him. Never before were there so much to read – so much to learn! His mother taught him enough, and left him to read while she left to mourn his father all day._

 _So lost was he in the forest of words that he never heard nor noticed Master Barthfer watching him, and he did not regret a moment of it when his mother slapped and yelled at him right in front of snickering scholars._

 _He was thirteen, and standing in his room. He could hear his mother sobbing outside, mourning his father as she always did. He knew now, as he was growing, that Ardal's death broke her beyond what she could bear. He was recently offered a job in the Hall of Elders, and he was too afraid to run away and accept Barthfer's offer._

 _Then there was pain – pain beyond his imagination as his mother threw the door to his room open and assaulted his mind. "How dare you think of leaving me?" she howled. "You are all I have. I am all you have. Do you think they will treat you as well as I do? Have you no shame?"_

 _Tryndemiel could do nothing but whimper as she attacked his very consciousness, twisting his memories into her own version of the truth._

 _"Malthinae!" his mother howled, binding him as she continued the attack on his mind._

 _Kept in place both physically and mentally, all he could do was watch in horror as his mother took her life right before his very eyes._

I reel away from his thoughts with a gasp. I find myself breathing heavily, leaning against the wall. It feels like I actually went through the years of terror that my friend endured, and now I finally understand why he looked so tired that day we met. I could feel the tears running down my face, all from the experience. He looks up at me, a haunted look in those eyes that I have always found so beautiful.

"I'm still afraid," he murmurs. "Afraid that I simply am not good enough to protect and defend myself and the people who are important to me."

"Don't say that again. Never say that again, as a matter of fact," I whisper. I wrap my arms around his waist, and it does not feel so odd or uncomfortable anymore. "You are not a burden. Forget what your mother said. We are your family now, and we value you."

 _Value you too much that my Rider here cannot bear to part with you again,_ Brand says softly.

He returns my embrace. "I don't know how I could have managed without you," he whispers. "Thank you."

"Wiol ono," I reply, echoing his words, more than twenty years ago. "Always." I feel the presence of two guarded minds approaching, and I glance at him, afraid to ruin the moment. "Tryndemiel, someone's approaching."

He snaps into alertness. "A lovestruck knight, aye."

He pulls me into a deep kiss and traps me against the wall, I press myself against him and kiss him back, simply savoring the moment. I can feel his heart through our clothing, pounding nervously as footsteps begin to fill our hearing. Brand tenses in my mind, prepared to fight his way through the castle should we be attacked. We press ourselves against each other, trying to be as blatantly in love as possible.

"I knew that you would be reunited one of these days, but couldn't you at least choose somewhere more private?" A voice cuts through the gloom, and we break apart. Sevanna stands by our cell with a smirk on her lovely, youthful face. "I do not care much for the atmosphere either, as a matter of fact."

Beside her stands Eoran, his smile genuinely happy. "Surprised?" he asks.

Tryndemiel and I leap to our feet, and I could feel my face burning. "What are you doing here?" I yelp. "You're both supposed to be in Lithgow – or halfway through it!"

Sevanna's smirk widens. "Oh, someone told us that things will get interesting here very soon. We're the king's actual visitors, can you believe it? We attended the tourney in disguise! It was so much fun. We also watched the two of you get dragged into this drab room. You could have at least visited the outpost instead. The accomodations are so much better."

"Well, someone here had to humiliate the Crown Prince to show off to his lady," jests Tryndemiel. He still seems shaken by the events of the past hour, but it is good to see him recover. "He was not pleased with the fact that not everyone would grovel and make a fool of themselves just to bolster his ego. That still does not explain what you are doing here in the dungeons."

"The king has received word of what his son did – especially to a Rider and the rightful winner of the tourney – and seeks your presence," explains Eoran. He beams as he completely takes in our disheveled appearance. He puts a hand on the lock and uses magic to undo it. "Best if you pull yourselves together first. We'll wait upstairs."

I help Tryndemiel put his armor back on as quickly as possible. My mind still whirls from the kiss, to Brand's amusement. At least my knight is as flustered as I. He stumbles against the cot twice while he checks if his armor still fits him perfectly.

He takes my hand gently and we walk out of the cell together. I know not what happened, but the events in the dungeon made something shift between us. Sharing his pain the way I've always shared mine, and the kiss seem to have different connotations now that I think of them. There's something different about the way we are now regarding each other.

I think I am truly and irrevocably in love with my knight.

* * *

 **Just a short filler chapter, as we'll end up right in the thick of action next chapter. There will be another major timeskip plus some (mis)adventures of three recently-graduated Riders.**

 **Nope, Prince Avhan is not in love or anything with Ash. He was just a random royal brat who did not appreciate the fact that he can't always get his way.**

 **I haven't done anything similar to this chapter before, so forgive me for any lack of details or whatnot. As for Ash's love epiphany, let's just say that Chaos-chan was partially inspired by her own experience. PARTIALLY. Heh.**

 **Yep, it seems that Tryndemiel and Ash end up in trouble whenever they reunite, no matter how short their parting was. xD Just imagine what it'd be like when they finally find each other again in Bloodwar. The possibilities for danger are endless!**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	16. Towards the Sun

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, such a shame.**

 **Chapter** **16: Towards the Sun**

We climb the stairs, following our friends' lead. I keep stealing glances at Tryndemiel, but he seems more composed than I am. Who knew that a kiss could fluster me so much?

 _You love him,_ Brand all but whispers in my mind. _Why not tell him?_

 _I can do it in private,_ I say. Besides, I'm afraid that he might not reciprocate.

I rub my chest, feeling a tiny odd sensation that's starting to bloom in it. I glance at Tryndemiel, and he smiles reassuringly. "I'm sure you will get us out of this mess," he says confidently.

Sevanna grins. "The two of you disgust me," she jokes. "You have been apart for two decades, and now you still can't wait to reach somewhere more private before you start pouncing on each other!"

Tryndemiel flushes. "Ah, that was because we told Prince Avhan that I am a lovestruck knight who wishes to show off to his lady." He looks away and quickly lowers his helm's visor. "We thought it would be appropriate to – er – act inappropriately."

Eoran laughs. "Appropriate? By the lost kings, I've thought you already lost your minds because of your prolonged separation!"

Tryndemiel shrugs nonchalantly. "Eoran, we are friends. We had to look convincing."

"Says you," Sevanna points out before throwing the throne room doors open with a flourish. She ushers us inside but stays in her place with Eoran.

So it seems like Tryndemiel and I must deal with this alone. We make our way to the throne and kneel.

King Galdreth sits upon the gilded throne, watching us with his head held high. The glint of his golden crown is barely visible over his hay-colored hair, but his violet eyes watch us sharply. Beside him stands Prince Avhan, dressed in robes of all gold, a greatsword slung upon his back. He eyes us sullenly. "Why must you honor their request for an audience, Father?" he whines. "They have shamed me."

"Silence!" King Galdreth stares down his son, who turns away with a dour expression on his face. He turns to us and smiles. "Many congratulations, Knight. You have done well in the contest of strength and skill."

Tryndemiel ducks his head. "It was merely determination and a foolish desire to prove myself, Your Grace."

"Ah, the folly of youthful love…" King Galdreth rises to his feet. "Though my wife has passed on to the void five years ago, I still remember how I courted her with a burning passion. Love is a very powerful thing, and I believe that we all go through so much trouble for it, willingly."

"I believe that too, with all my heart." And he seems to mean it.

"Now, show me your face, Knight."

Tryndemiel touches my hand briefly and raises the visor of his helm, revealing his perfectly glamored face. "I am but a warrior trained in Doru Araeba. My name is Tryndemiel, the Wolfhound."

"A mighty name for one so young." King Galdreth smiles. "And you, oh Lady of the Roses, do grace me with your name."

"I am Ash of Ilirea," I tell him, not wishing to elaborate.

He nods and smiles. "Thank you, Lady Ash and Sir Tryndemiel, for gracing us with your presence last night. You have provided much excitement to the people of the city, and taught my son a very valuable lesson that my beloved seems to have failed to impart upon him."

Avhan snarls at us. "What are you talking about, father? He has humilated me!"

"My Lord, we did nothing of the sort," Tryndemiel murmurs. This time, he takes my hand for real. I am not sure how much of it is an act, but I will probably be forever afraid to confront him.

King Galdreth shakes his head. "Ah, but you have. Among people born into privilege and power, humility is difficult to learn. My father has forced me to learn it at a very young age, but alas circumstances prevented me from lending a better hand to my son's tutelage. We shall remedy that now." We pause as he sends his son away. "In fact, I am considering removing him from the line of ascencion."

"Surely that will not be necessary," I say.

He stares at the door where his son went through. "He is… unstable. There have been many instances of it in our line – something we inherited from King Palancar himself. Ah, there I am, rambling again. Forgive me." He rubs his forehead tiredly. "Do forgive me for the trouble Avhan has caused you. It will not happen again."

Tryndemiel receives the prize of ten thousand gold coins that he should have received last night, and we are free to go after some more pleasantries. Sevanna and Eoran await us outside.

"What are your plans now?" Eoran asks. "You've seen Gil'ead."

"I don't know," I admit. "I might stay here and start studying in the outpost library."

"So early into your freedom?" Sevanna laughs. "Eoran and I shall be traveling to the Beor Mountains tomorrow. Don't coop yourself up in your chosen field so quickly. See the world. Experience. Feel."

"Now you sound like my mother," I say. I feel my throat constrict as I remember my mother's broken body. "What about you, Tryndemiel?"

"If we didn't find each other here, I would have moved on to Kuasta to track down my father's surviving relatives," he replies with a shy smile. Why does it make his eyes light up? I've said time and time again that he is beautiful, but something is so different, even in his human guise. "I know he's been dead for almost fifty years, but I'm hoping that someone still lives and rememebers him. I might not go through with it, though. Like I said last night, I'll go anywhere you want me to."

"Oh, and here I was thinking everything was a ruse. Why are you flirting with her?" Eoran asks in mock distress.

Tryndemiel looks genuinely confused. "I was merely telling the truth."

I realize that he is still holding my hand, and I squeeze it. "That is most kind of you," I tell him, though I feel my entire body burning. "So that I'll have more time to decide what I will do next, maybe we could visit Kuasta, eh?"

He turns white as snow. "What? But you don't have to do that on behalf of me," he stammers.

I shake my head with a small laugh. "No. I do want to see Kuasta. I have never been there before, and there is so much to learn about it."

The king offers his hospitality for the night, as pur group parts the next day. Sevanna and Eoran are traveling to the Beor Mountains to visit our remote outposts near the dwarven lands, Tryndemiel and I are heading southwest to Kuasta to track down any information about his father.

I refrain from telling him what I really feel, afraid that he does not feel a thing for me anymore. After all, we have parted for twenty years, and so much could have changed since then. Brand welcomes our company as we finally depart Gil'ead.

We talk about everything under the sun except for our feelings. I am too awkward to tell him that I'm in love, and it would sound ridiculous anyway, coming from me. I train him further in protecting his mind though, and he's starting to improve.

As we have all the time in the world, we fly at a leisurely pace and camp under the stars at night. We finally reach Kuasta three days later. I take a deep breath of the warm see breeze as the blooming trading outpost comes into view. The locals greet us in enthusiasm, merchants pointing at their wares, the scent of food wafting in the air.

Tryndemiel hops off Brand's back and asks around for the location of certain illuminators in the city, as his father came from such a family. We are directed to an area where a small bookshop sits, nestled between a tavern and a bakery. He looks up at the sign. "The Enlightened Gull – exactly as Tear told me," he murmurs.

"This is very important to you," I tell him. "If you want to, Brand and I shall stay here."

He shakes his head, eyes unusually bright. "Ash, no. I need you for this."

We step into the shop quietly. It is a little dark and cramped, reminding me of Tryndemiel's study in Doru Araeba. A young woman sits behind a desk, watching us with a bright smile. She has Tryndemiel's honey eyes and fair, fair hair. "Good afternoon!" she says in a very enthusiastic tone. "Are you looking for a particular book? Do you want some manuscripts illuminated by the deft hands passed from father to son, mother to daughter?"

Tryndemiel looks a little intimidated. "I'm actually not from here," he admits. "I'm Tryndemiel of Doru Araeba, and this is my friend, Ash of Ilirea. My father was from Kuasta – his name was Ardal. I was hoping someone in the city knew of him, or hopefully remembered him."

"Mother said I had an great uncle named Ardal…" The woman stands up, knocking a chair over. "My name is Alyn. You might want to meet my grandmother."

We wait outside while she closes shop. We tell her that we could wait, but she insists, saying that her family will not mind as it would be very important. She also refuses to join us atop Brand, giggling nervously. We end up walking beside her, while Brand flies above us languidly. The brilliant summer sun shines above us, making me feel hopeful all of a sudden.

We wind through Kuasta's lovely streets, merchants still hawking their wares. It truly is somewhere that I wouldn't mind getting lost in. Tryndemiel seems anxious, though. He keeps looking around, as if expecting some of his father's relatives to burst out of the houses.

I try to reach his mind, and all I could feel is anxiety. _Is everything well?_ I still ask.

He nods, though he seems to be turning paler and paler with every step. _What if they do not like me? What if they are similar to most of House Rilvenar?_

I shake my head. _Don't think like that. She seems enthusiastic enough,_ I tell him. _Have courage._

He smiles and briefly squeezes my hand. _Thank you._

We find ourselves in a house situated on a cliff overlooking the sea. A pair of children are running around a small garden of roses, while a much older woman overlooks, her fair hair streaked with stormy gray. She looks up as we arrive. "Alyn? Is something the matter, dear?" She glances at us. "Is there something you need?"

Alyn smiles. "Mother, I do not think you are going to believe this."

Tryndemiel stares at me for a few seconds before I nudge him softly, and he stumbles forward, face turning whiter before burning a brilliant red. He scratches the back of his head. "Ah, yes. I am Tryndemiel of Doru Araeba, m'lady, and I was wondering if you have heard of my father, uh, the Rider. Ardal?"

The woman's eyes widen. "Ardal? Yes, yes! I remembered him visiting when I was little!" She nearly leaps off her bench. "I saw him only once, when I was seven years old. I think he died the year after. You must be that elf woman's son! Ah, please, please do come in. Mother will be pleased to see you! I am Lanna." She throws the door open and knocks on its frame before stepping in. Ah, yes, I've heard of the unusual customs in this city.

We follow her inside while Alyn stays outside to watch over her nephews. I could sense the excitement in the air as we step into the wealthy home, and go upstairs and out into a balcony overlooking the crashing waves. An old woman sits there, knitting. She peers at us curiously with slightly clouded eyes the same shade as everyone in her family. "Ardal?" she whispers, brushing off gray hair streaked with gold.

"Mother, this is his son, Tryndemiel, here with his lover," Lanna explains. None of us bother to correct her, but I can sense Brand's amusement. I will give him a piece of my mind later. "He has come home."

The elderly woman stands up and takes my friend's hands in her weathered ones, tears brimming from her eyes. "Ardal was my only brother," she whispers. "My name is Resela, and I was seven years old when he was chosen to join the Riders. He visited us as long as it was within his power to do so. We aged, and aged, and yet he stayed youthful and beautiful. He looks so much like you, child, despite his fair hair."

"Y-you remember him?" Tryndemiel all but whispers. "What was he like?"

"Kind, and quiet. He was intelligent. The last time I saw him, I was seven and twenty." Resela smiles. "He told me about the fair elf who was his lover, and the son she was about to bear him. You."

They continue discussing Ardal while Lanna quietly excuses herself. I slip away with her after touching Tryndemiel's hand, and the human woman brings me to a small study. She smiles fondly. "Mother was sad when he heard of Uncle Ardal's passing. He was murdered by a Rider he considered his friend."

"There have been news of many Riders who have gone rogue throughout the years," I agree. "I nearly lost my life because of an entire group of them."

Lanna inclines her head. "So, it seems like your lover is my cousin," she says.

I feel myself turn red. What am I? A very young apprentice? I should be well beyond such reactions. Still, I wipe off some sweat from my brow and smile. "Oh, I am very sorry, Lanna, I am merely his friend."

She smiles. "Oh, but I have seen how he was looking at you." She leans forward with a chuckle. "I have not noticed it at first, but that is how my husband was watching me before he asked for my hand in marriage."

"And afterward?"

"It was much, much brighter and more beautiful. Believe me. He seems like a kind man. Don't let his attention on you be wasted," she all but whispers.

Tryndemiel rejoins us at this point, his eyes a little misty. He still smiles at me brilliantly and squeezes himself into my chair. We end up cramped, but it is pleasant. "Thank you," he tells me and Lanna. Then he turns to his cousin. "You don't know how much this means to me. My mother's side of the family did not unanimously accept my existence, but you did, without any moment of doubt."

Lanna chuckles again. "You know, we always did wonder what happened to you. Say, do the two of you have any place to stay in? We have a spare room here, and if you could wait until tomorrow we could call the rest of the family in the city."

Once more, Tryndemiel glances at me, as if for guidance. "It's fine," I tell him. "We can stay here in Kuasta as long as you want."

He smiles and kisses my cheek. "Thank you. Again. This is why I lo – like you so much."

 _Now, see what everyone is telling you?_ Brand says. _You really should profess your feelings soon._

* * *

 **A quick update! This chapter would've been longer, but I don't want to dally in Kuasta!**

 **Yeah, I think their reunion in Bloodwar will be both sweet and hilarious. Especially since one is a badass romantically awkward Rider and the other one is a badass klutz. Do you think our sword-toting scholar will end up as a Rider too?**

 **We'll be having an itty-bitty timeskip next chapter. I wanted to gloss over most of Ash's grand tour of Alagaesia, but I wanted a very important scene to play out during this timeframe instead of waiting for another few decades or so. Oh, and we'll be seeing someone from the main stories as a baby over the next chapter or two. Guess who? XD**

 **Which part of Alagaesia do you want our duo to visit next chapter? Do you think Ash will admit her feelings? Or do you think Tryndemiel will do it first?**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	17. The Bright Lady and White Knight

**Disclaimer: Yeahhhhhhhh**

* * *

 **Chapter 17: The Bright Lady and White Knight**

Summer fades into fall. We stay in Kuasta for a long time so that Tryndemiel gets enough time to acquaint himself with his father's family, and for me to meet the Riders in the nearby outpost. We also learn more about the unusual customs that seem to exist only in this secluded trade outpost.

We eventually take our leave, thanking our hosts most profusely. Tryndemiel promises to visit as often as he could and I will make sure that he upholds his words. My feelings for him remain unchanged, which I am thankful for. I can still feel the bright warmth in me whenever he talks to me.

Brand meets us outside of the city, fresh from his hunt. His dark blue eyes gleam with amusement as we approach. _Have you had your fill of this city, little ones?_

 _We haven't. Not really,_ I admit. _We'll return here one of these days. Worry not._

We take off in a blast of late fall wind, the coolness already settling in our bones. This time, we head to the north, to Palancar Valley. I've always wanted to see Therinsord, though Sevanna tells me that there's truly nothing to see in the area. It would also be a good time for us to visit the Edoc'sil outpost, where I hear nothing much really happens, but is a bastion of ancient treasures and wonders.

The weather steadily grows colder as we travel along the mysterious Spine, where few people – including Riders – reside in it. Urgals swarm the area, and I have heard that the great Eragon's second in command died under mysterious circumstances here.

We camp at the foot of the mountains when night finally falls. We are still half a day's ride away from Palancar Valley, as we take our time to acquaint ourselves with the lay of the land. Brand seems very interested in the Spine, but I make sure to impress its dangers upon him.

I gather some dried twigs to keep ourselves warm, and Brand also covers us – and our bedrolls – with his wings.

We reach Edoc'sil shortly after our midday meal, and the Riders in the area welcome us warmly. The archivists show us around the tower, explaining the books that can only be found here, and the sealed artifact room that can only be accessed by the Master Archivist of Doru Araeba.

They give us only one room for the night, as it seems like they are too excited to have "Elder Oromis' lovely daughter and her lover" tonight and refused to listen to our protests.

At least they were kind enough to give us two beds.

It takes us half a day more to reach Therinsford – a small, quiet village near the entrance to Palancar Valley. It is a curious place, with buildings placed in no particular order – as if the owners simply placed them wherever they wished. The roads are therefore a little unusual too, and we end up being lost while on the search for a tavern. People stare at us oddly, and we soon learn that Riders rarely venture so far into this village except during Dragon Hatching Ceremonies.

Tryndemiel smiles. "It is a perfect place to hide in, though."

"Either you would be hard to find, or too obvious," I point out.

He nods and stumbles as he trips on a rock. I supress a chuckle, as he has been most kind to me since we reunited. I don't want to offend or hurt him. He turns red and looks away though.

The pub is situated in the northern end of the village, and it is sadly empty when we arrive, save for the barkeep behind the counter. His eyes widen as we sit down. "Ah, m'lady, m'lord," he stammers. "What can I get you today?"

Tryndemiel leans forward and slides two gold coins. "Your best."

 _I haven't really drunk anything from a tavern since that day,_ I tell him, remembering it so clearly.

I could feel it in his mind again, that fiery fondness and affection. It's like I have gained a second dragon. That earns me his amusement. _Ash, I am a wolfhound._

We share a quiet drink and pry for some news. We learn more about Sevanna, whom the bartender knew as a child, as he is just two years older. Apparently their fathers expected them to wed when they were older until my friend was chosen as a Rider at the age of twelve. He eventually settled down with another girl from the village to the north, Carvahall. I tell him that I know Sevanna and actually am friends with her, and he gives me a wistful smile.

"M'lady, I know it might be too much to ask," he begins. "But if possible, could you please tell Sevanna that old Marton still has not forgotten her?"

I see something in his eyes – something that reminds me of myself. "I will. Do not fear."

He then speaks of trouble in Carvahall, of Urgals attacking the city outskirts. It seems like the envoys sent to the Riders three days ago have not yet reached Edoc'sil.

We promise to send news as quickly as we can.

It seems like I will have to postpone my visit to Carvahall for another day. We thank Marton for the information and return to Edoc'sil, reaching it shortly after dusk. We barely land when one of the head Riders – a dark-haired human named Alsana – runs toward us. "Ash!" she calls out. "We were about to send someone to look for you."

My stomach begins to churn. I am afraid that something is wrong. "Did you need something?" I ask.

"All outposts received a message from your father," she explains. "The Elder seeks your presence in the outpost in Teirm port. He has confirmed that it is no emergency, but has stressed the importance of your presence."

I make a face. Leave it to my father to spring surprises at me. I thank her profusely for the information, and also inform her of the problems in Carvahall. She promises to send reinforcements to assist the village, and also offers us lodging for the night.

Once more, Tryndemiel and I are staying in the same room. I sit by the window, watching the snow finally fall outside, when he returns from a quick bath. He smiles and sits down beside me. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," he says. He watches me, as if unsure about whether to continue or not. "If you need me, I will be there."

"You must," I whisper. "Should anything go wrong, I want to make sure that someone is on my side."

"Always."

We reach the Teirm docks the following day, and follow the directions to the hut Oromis is staying in – a well-built building at the very edge of the new outpost that is currently being built to watch over the growing seafaring community. Glaedr stands guard outside with another dragon – a silver-gray one belonging to an elf that I remember from my time in Ilirea. I think her name is Freynera.

Brand lands right beside them, looking awfully small compared to two full-grown dragons. He will not reach their size for another fifty years. I bow to the two elder dragons. "As summoned, we have come," I murmur.

Glaedr inclines his head. _Your father is inside,_ he says. _It would be best if you go in alone._

I bow and turn to the door. Tryndemiel takes my hand briefly. "I'll be waiting here outside with Brand. Worry not."

I give him my best smile, but I'm afraid it looks more like a grimace. "Thank you."

He smiles and nudges me forward. "Go on, Ash Svit-kona."

I brace myself and step inside Oromis' immaculately-arranged, one-room hut. My father himself is sitting by a table, a cup of tea in his hands. He nods to acknowledge my presence. Across the table from him is Freynera, ageless and lovely. Dark curls frame her face, and her hazel eyes observe me with open curiosity.

"You truly have grown into quite a Rider," she notes with a languid smile.

With a jolt, I notice that she is heavily pregnant. I try to compose myself, sure that I am starting to appear rattled. "Why do you seek me out?" I ask Oromis.

He watches me cautiously, as if I were a particularly skittish person. "Ash, I wanted to do this properly." He rubs his forehead. "Freynera is bearing my child."

I have heard of elves flitting from one lover to another, but I never expected it of my father of all people. I still remember the devastation and sorrow that my mother's death brought upon him. He was as broken as I. "Have you forgotten about her so easily?" I ask.

Oromis stands up, eyes darkening. "I loved her," he assures me. "I loved her enough to do everything to protect her from those who would use my mate and my children against me. I will never forget her, I assure you."

"And yet here you are, happy in the arms of a new lover." I turn away from him. "I thought you were beyond the fickleness of your people."

I walk out of the door, slamming it shut behind me. I could still hear him calling me, but I deliberately ignore him. I find myself walking along the beach, seething. My father betrayed my mother's memory, and did not even care to inform me until his new mate is with child. I know it has been two decades, but still, it feels like he is just like every other fickle elf.

Am I doomed to experience such capriciousness too?

I sit down under the shadow of a rocky outcrop, watching the crashing waves and lost in my dark thoughts. I could sense Brand's concern and his sadness, but he stays quiet. He is nearby, though, and I do want him to say something. It seems like words have failed my dragon for the first time.

I could hear soft foosteps headed my way, but I make no move to draw my sword and defend myself. I am too angry and upset to think straight.

This person turns out to be Tryndemiel. He stares at me with wide, nervous eyes. I say nothing, and he sits in front of me. "Is something the matter?" he asks, fingers briefly stroking my cheek. "You can tell me. I shall not judge you."

"My father," I begin. "He is as inconsistent as the rest of the elves. He now has a new lover, and she will be bearing his child soon."

"My mother's first mate died. That's how she ended up in Doru Araeba and met my father," he murmurs. He brushes hair away from my face. "I think there's something else that bothers you."

I put a hand to my chest. "I am half-elf. I fear that I am as capricious as he, and what I feel now will change in the future."

"We live our own lives, and make our own decisions." He leans forward, and I can see the golden flecks in his honey eyes. "You were raised human, and I was raised a pest, but we must not let it define us. You've taught me that in the dungeons of Gil'ead. Let's keep moving forward. Love only once if you must – and I hope you do, because I will."

I smile, never taking my eyes off his gaze. "I don't know what I would ever do without Brand and you."

He smiles back. "I'm just doing what I can. Is that not what we do for the ones we love?"

"I know. I would do everything for you because I love you – wait, what?" I yelp, his words finally sinking in. I also realize what exactly I just told him.

His eyes widen and his cheeks burn red. "I love you too, Ash Svit-kona," he whispers.

"You do?" I ask breathlessly. I access his welcoming mind. _Truly?_

He does not respond in words. His thoughts seem to embrace my mind as he shows me his memory, like he did in the dungeons of Gil'ead all those months ago.

 _He was sixteen, sitting across the table from Master Barthfer. Seeing him alive makes my stomach twist, even after all this time. Tryndemiel looks a little nervous, dressed in the white robes he used to wear so much. "You called, Master Archivist?" he asks quietly._

 _Master Barthfer smiles at him. "Oromis-elda has sent us a message saying that his daughter is on her way to Doru Araeba as one of the new Riders. She is a half-elf, like you."_

 _Tryndemiel shakes his head. "And what does she have to do with me? Not that I don't mind a friend, Master, but I might fear for my life if another Sevanna follows me around."_

 _"By the lost kings, of course not!" Master Barthfer laughs. "I do want her to be your friend. She will naturally be alone in her first few days here. Show her around. She's a good child, and I've known her for a time. I am sure that she will not bother you."_

 _The vision swims, and we are in the library at least two days later. He watched me enter the library, an awkward girl with a hatchling dragon that brimmed of curiosity. We traded glances for a while before he forces himself to look away, afraid that I might be offended._

 _"You are Ash, am I correct?" he asked._

 _"I suppose we are the only half-elves in the library," I said, making him smile for the first time since his mother's death. He supposed he didn't mind it, befriending me._

 _It seems I surprised him with my interest in his study – the other scholars found him an oddball, aside from a handful of older ones. He left my room that night with hope in his heart – hope that he truly was not just a waste of time and space, as his mother thought him to be._

 _He shows me images of the nights we spent studying together, and his growing awe. He shows me the way he was starting to find me beautiful not only on the outside, but also on the inside._

 _Seeing the fateful night that Sevanna tried to seduce him hurt, though I try to rein my emotions in._

 _When we reach the point where he lends me Aeryndight, he was as besotted in me as I was in Eoran at that time. He feared that he wanted to at least let me know that he cared, and did worry that something was about to go wrong. He was right – I did need the sword._

 _He watched me be carried into the infirmary of Doru Araeba, unconscious and hurt. He rushed to my side as soon as the healers left and encountered my father, who gazed at him with exhausted eyes. Neither of them said anything past their initial pleasantries, and he quickly gazed at my unconscious form. I did look terrible after the battle in the south. I could feel the fear and anxiety that he experienced during that day – and over the next few days that he came to visit, sleepless and distraught._

 _He shows me the first namedays we've spent together, and I experience the affection that slowly and steadily began to grow over those few days. He holds nothing back, letting me experience all the feelings he had at those points in his life. He flits through the next year, stopping on that day that Kifain injured Eoran due to his ridiculous jealousy and envy._

 _He watches over the wheezing Eoran just as I left with Brand to look for help. "She's amazing, is she not?" he muses._

 _"I know," Eoran agrees. "I've seen the way she watched me over the past year. I truly am guilty for never reciprocating but my affections toward Sevanna have not changed in the slightest."_

 _"It is not your fault," Tryndemiel says with a grin._

 _"And I've seen the way the two of you have been eyeing each other too," Eoran continues with a grin. "Tell her, before someone less worthy takes her away from you."_

 _He never did, but he also kept Eoran's words in his mind, kindling a quiet hope that his feelings may be reciprocated._

 _I see myself, the ruin that I was after my mother's death. He watched me all throughout, readily agreeing to protect me when my father asked. He was eager to prove himself, and desperate to make sure that no harm comes to me._

 _He shows me that night we slept together, share his fear and reluctance. Alas, he could not say no to the one person who mattered the most._

 _He glosses over my father's warning to keep his distance until I finish my training, and the invitation from Tear that spurred him to leave Doru Araeba._

 _I see myself lying on the infirmary bed, broken and near-death. He recalls his promise, and affirms that he did mean to return._

 _He shows me the Tourney, the way he almost fell off his horse and was in danger of dropping his lance when he saw me at the very front of the crowd. I feel the resolve that coursed through him, the determination to win and crown me. Panic filled him as he rested the crown of roses upon my head though, afraid that I did not wish to see him after years of silence. He turned his back and fled, hoping that I would follow. And follow I did. We blaze through that night, and the fiery emotions roiling in him as we shared the bed._

 _I see ourselves in the dungeons, where I asked to pretend – pretend to be a lovestruck knight who wished to impress his lady. He did not need to pretend, as that was what he exactly was. I feel his hope again, the warm light in his heart as he began to wonder yet again what exactly I was feeling about him._

I pull away and meet his eyes. "Truly," I whisper.

He smiles beautifully. "Truly."

I pull him into my thoughts, showing him my recollections, from the day we met until that kiss in the dungeon. As I show him through everything, I begin to realize that I was in love with him before I actually grasped the fact that I did.

Night has truly fallen by the time we finish, the cold winter wind stinging my nose. He seems to realize it and throws his arms around my shoulders. "There is no need for us to be in a hurry and make decisions," he whispers in my ear. "I do not wish to force you into anything."

I smile and lean against him, my arms around his waist. "Thank you for everything."

"I must say the same to you," he jests, his breath ruffling my hair. "Now, I think you are tired and bothered by everything we have gone through today. It is best you rest. We have all day to talk and make peace with your father tomorrow."

* * *

 **A long-ish chapter, and it still feels like I haven't done anything justice!**

 **I did consider writing Tryndemiel into Shruikan's backstory as his surviving Rider, especially since I'm dead-set against killing off the black dragon at the end, but then another crazier plan came up and sadly Tryndemiel's dragon will hatch after the final battle if I do decide to turn him into one in Bloodwar. Being Shruikan's Rider would be awfully heart-wrenching, though.**

 **As for baby!Brom? Yes, we'll be seeing him someday, but not in the foreseeable future. As for the mystery character that will be born soon-ish, we might meet him/her in the chapter after the next one. And yes, his connection to our crazy awesome deuteragonist has been made! I seriously have a lot of hilarious ideas about their eventual banter in Bloodwar.**

 **Freynera was initially written to be unlikeable, but that was too cliche. Heh.**

 **We'll get to see Brand's reaction to their confessions next chapter before the obligatory timeskip. Heehee.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	18. Longing for an Escape

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, unfortunately.**

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Longing for an Escape**

We make it back to the hut that has been alotted to us by the Riders in the vicinity, having assumed immediately upon seeing us earlier that we are lovers – which, I suppose, we are now. I can still feel a happy sort of giddiness, and I can sense the same thing from Brand, who is waiting for us outside, eyes gleaming with amusement.

 _I told you to tell him,_ he says, enveloping me with the warmth of his mind. _You never listen to me._

 _I was not sure that he would reciprocate,_ I shoot back. _Rejection would not sit well with me, especially since it is regarding matters as immense as this._

 _You are very dense._ Brand licks me, and I groan. _Have you not felt his love when you accessed his mind? You even compared it to what I felt for you as the partner-of-your-mind-and-heart!_

Tryndemiel wraps an arm around my waist. I forgot that he is still inside my mind, and therefore perfectly heard everything I discussed with Brand. _What is done is done, mighty dragon. She said what she had to, and I said what I had to. Fear not._

 _Fear for your life if you hurt her,_ growls Brand.

Tryndemiel does not even flinch. _I would never do such a thing, Brand. I can't. I'd rather cut off my head._

Brand shifts and eyes him with his night-sky eyes and blew smoke all over his face. _As you very well should. Now run along, little ones. I am hunting for my dinner._

We make our way inside the hut, where food is laid down on the bare table. We eat our meal in silence, occassionally stealing glances at each other. I eventually have to look around the room, and notice that there is only one bed. I feel my cheeks burn in discomfort.

"I can take the floor tonight," mutters Tryndemiel, finishing the tea I warmed for him. He smiles brightly, as if that is the best idea he has ever thought of.

I breathe out, watching it mist up in the steadily dropping temperature. "If you sleep on the floor tonight, it will take me all morning to melt the ice that will form on you. We can share the bed. Don't worry. I won't do anything… inappropriate."

He turns even redder and stays that way until we finish cleaning up. We eventually find ourselves sitting on the opposite sides of the bed from each other. He smiles at me and I am surprised that the sadness that always lingered in his face before is completely gone. "What will this mean for you and me?" he asks. "I – I'm not implying anything of, uh, any sort but…"

I smile and move a little closer to him. "It is like you said, is it not? There is no need for us to hurry. Let's enjoy what we have and let it take us where it must."

He kisses me shyly, and we eventually fall asleep in each other's arms.

I apologize to Oromis the following day – and to my surprise, he apologizes to me too for taking me by surprise and not asking about my opinion first. At least he does not speak to me in a patronizing tone anymore, as if I were still a very small child. We also tell him about what happened yesterday after I ran out of his hut, and he seems genuinely pleased about the two of us. Brand lets me know of his even further amusement. It seems like he is starting to be amused by everything in my life.

Tryndemiel hits the corner of the lone table when we finally leave, apparently as surprised as I am by my father's reaction.

* * *

We stay in the outpost until Freynera gives birth to a daughter – a lovely girl they have named Lysara. She has her mother's dark hair and Oromis' blue eyes. They let me hold her as she opens her mouth and yawns. I feel a surge of protective affection for the child.

"Welcome to Alagaesia, little one," I whisper. "It's not perfect, but I hope you enjoy it."

I give her a kiss on the forehead and return her to my father's waiting arms.

"Does Jotnar know?" I ask.

Oromis nods. "He sent me a long letter full of profanities in both the ancient and common tongue. It was most interesting, but I believe I must pay him a visit soon."

Once we finally leave the hut, I let Tryndemiel put his arms around my shoulders. His eyes glint with excitement as the invigoratingly fresh spring air caresses our face. "Where will we be heading off this time, then?" he asks.

I stare at him, still wondering what I could ever have done to deserve him. "You've let me see Teirm and Therinsford. I wanted to see Carvahall, but I'm going to let you choose this time," I promise him.

He smiles, eyes bright. "I was curious… did you have any restrictions regarding your travels?" he asks.

I frown, wondering what he means. "As long as we have outposts in the area, or as long as we are welcome there then there won't be any problem."

"Then why keep ourselves in human territory? Let's visit Nadindel. Jotnar's there, Fayille is there." His smile widens, and it looks like he is about to split his face in glee. "We could even arrive in time for te Dagshelgr Invocation."

I've heard of that celebration. Oromis even forced me to learn the songs that are commonly used by the elves during such a day. I suppose there is no harm in participating. It would truly be a most interesting experience, though I haven ever truly felt in touch with the elven side of my family. "Then to Nadindel it is," I proclaim.

Brand seems more excited than I am. _Finally! The chance to see the land of the pointy-ears._

 _Brand, they are elves. And we're just going to see trees, trees, more trees, and maybe sing a song in a language that no one fully comprehends. They don't even know its name, for crying out loud,_ I tell him. _Well, at least we will be seeing Fayille and Jotnar – who probably isn't too happy right now._

I stop myself from breathing too heavily when Tryndemiel wraps his arms around my waist. "Please don't do any funny tricks, Brand. I am still afraid of falling off."

"You've been flying with us for almost as year," I point out. "Besides, we're here. There's absolutely nothing for you to be afraid of."

 _It is quite amusing to watch you scream, little star-seeker,_ Brand notes. He flexes his wings and takes a deep breath.

He leaps into the air as fast as he could, savoring the calming spring breeze. He circles the docks once, twice, thrice, and quickly orients himself to the north. With his speed, we would have fallen off if we weren't tied with the saddle straps. I could hear Tryndemiel yelling incoherrently, but I start laughing my head off.

I have never felt such freedom before.

Once more we fly slowly but surely, trying to remember everything we could about the landscape. Since we will not make it to Du Weldenvarden and we now have all the time in the world, we stop by Carvahall for the night. The village does not seem as prosperous as Therinsford, of the cities outside of Palancar Valley, but it has its own charm, with massive, porched wooden houses neatly arrayed along streets, and farms dotting its outskirts.

Though people seem surprise at our presence, no one makes any fuss or comment, going about their day as always. I do note a makeshift fence covering a part of the road that leads into the Spine, and smoke curling up from a few dragons sleeping in one of the mountains. One of the villagers in the tavern assure us that the Urgal issue has been resolved, and that a few wild dragons have taken residence in that mountain to make sure that the village will not be bothered again. We meet an elderly lady who sits on the porch outside the butcher's shop who claims she is the daughter of one of my mother's brothers and that they met once, before I was born, making us relatives.

They greet me warmly and offer food, but since it is meat I refuse. They shower us with vegetables instead. I refuse that too, knowing that they need it more than I do, but I insist.

Brand departs to meet his wild brethren while we stay in the same room that night, as we always had since first arriving in Palancar Valley last year. I sit by the window, watching the people headed home after a hard day's work.

I feel Tryndemiel's thoughts pressing against mine. He is getting better and better at protecting his mind, but communicating with anyone outside Brand and I is still impossible. I suppose it's a start, unlike his magic abilities which are still as bad as they were when he left Du Weldenvarden. _What?_ I ask.

He grins and begins to polish his Wolfhound armor, which is still ridiculously colored a turquoise shade. _Nothing, it is just very interesting that your mother's relatives are very kind, like my father's. My mother's family is not as accomodating as they, aside from my half-sisters and some cousins. And you do not have a very good relationship with your father. It seems like for all their talks of superiority, elves are not really that great._

I chuckle. _That is very true. Beauty, power, near-immortality? Yes. Superior attitude? Oh, lost kings, no._

He nods sagely. _And that is why I am very lucky that you have the best of both races._

We finally reach Du Weldenvarden the next day, its outskirts dotted with a number of small elven settlements. Tryndemiel points out some very important landmarks as he steers us to Nadindel, flying lower than usual. He mentions that he actually did ride on dragonback, as Helga and Iormungr were on the way to the nearby outpost.

Nadindel greets us by nightfall, Riders and dragons walking among the trees. They greet us mst politely, and they usher us into the great city as we introduce ourselves. Brand folds his wings and begins to carry us through the way.

I will not doubt my mother's words anymore – the land of the elves truly is amazing. The brilliant Erisdar lanterns line the pathways that we walk through, and the houses and buildings themselves have been wrought from living trees. Some have been transformed through singing to fit an elf's vision of beauty, and yet they all live and thrive. They truly are works of art, and I have heard rumors that they can only be rivalled in magnificence by the dwarves' jewel-laden cities.

A number of the elves we pass by have the colored markings on their faces that mark them as members of the Painted Ones – the best non-Rider elven warriors that answer only to King Esrafiel or his mate, Queen Cralien, who are seated at Ellesmera.

A number of elves stare at us, some with interest and respect, others with curiosity, a few with outright dislike. I exchange glances with Tryndemiel, but he simply gives me his brightest smile and says nothing. He directs us through a series of archways made by the interlocking branches of two trees, where we dismount Brand and continue on foot.

 _This is the path to Almaera Hall, seat of House Svarthall – the most powerful family in Nadindel, rivaled only by House Rilvenar. Fayille should be there,_ announces Tryndemiel. _I might not have mentioned it before, but I spent a great deal of time in here as his guest during my stay in the city._

We reach a courtyard where a number of elves are staying in, engaged in a multitude of activities. A great number of them have red hair and deep gray eyes. They all greet us respectfully, and a few of them seem to be quite friendly with Tryndemiel. We see someone seated by a gurgling river, strumming idly on his lyre. He turns as we approach, and I recognize my old friend.

Fayille stands, looking as ageless as he was when he left Doru Araeba. He is wearing gold clothing with lavish blue embroidery, and a cloak of the same hue. I note that he is wearing the colors of the head of his house.

"Ash, Tryndemiel," he says with a bright smile. "Just when I was about to contact you. Jotnar departed for Silthrim three days ago and wished to talk to you."

Silthrim is a larger settlement a small distance to the south, home to a less powerful branch of House Rilvenar and seat of House Thranduin. There are very few surviving members of that house, only twelve of them if you count my brother, me, and newborn Lysara, as most of them have intermarried among more powerful houses ages ago.

Could they have sought him out?

* * *

 **One more chapter, I swear, then another timeskip. The biggest one yet.**

 **Oromis' family is explained out in Bloodlines, Chapter 25. So yes, Serylda is younger, and we'll be seeing her next chapter. How do you think will Ash respond to her birth? XD**

 **I don't really want to spell out endgame stuff here yet, especially for Bloodwar, but Shruikan's post-Galby future might come out of nowhere. I haven't seen any fic that did it yet, but I'll be foreshadowing it once we get to the Bloodwar proper. As for the Rider Tryndemiel in Bloodwar that I mentioned last chapter? I'm definitely considering it. He still doesn't strike me as a black/white Rider though...**

 **Do any of you guys get confused by the perspective shifts in the main stories? I haven't really given it much thought as my proofreader aka real life Tryndemiel isn't really having much trouble with it, but I received a complaint in Bloodwar.**

 **Read and review as always, you guys!**


	19. Among the Sentinels

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately nothing belongs to poor poor me.**

* * *

 **Chapter 19: Among the Sentinels**

Nadindel, like most elven cities, takes much pride in its culture. Despite the fact that it houses the Painted Ones, its citizens are not focused in martial prowess, unlike Silthrim to the south. I ask Fayille to show us around, rationalizing that my brother has not yet reached our new destination if he truly left on foot. Despite the speed and endurance that we inherited from the elves, it will still take him at least two or three more days.

He brings us to great halls of other houses teeming with books and art, lets us hear performances of elves singing songs both old and new. We also visit the Rider outpost, though everyone in the area are complete strangers to me. Fayille also explains the reason why he left Doru Araeba – to take the post of his father as head of House Svarthall when the latter succumbed to a centuries-old illness that he was battling. He seems to be dealing with it cheerfully, even though I can see that the sudden responsibility is burdening him greatly.

We take good care to avoid House Rilvenar as we hear the news of Tear and her other sisters departing for the elven trading outpost of Osilon.

Tryndemiel and I stay in Almaera Hall as Fayille's guests. As we are – for all intents and purposes – mates, we share the same room once more.

He smiles at the arrangement and says nothing when we finally retire for the night after a long day of walking. He sits on the bed, dressed in the violet and silver of House Rilvenar – a gift from Fayille that he couldn't refuse. His eyes glitter as I sit beside him. "Mates. It sounds so odd." He peers at me through his lashes. "I know that we are mates, for lack of a better word, but do you not feel like something is lacking?"

"There is something lacking in elves' notion of love," I agree. "The humans, I think, understood it better."

His eyes glitter warmly as he takes me into his arms and we settle down for the night. "I think they did, vallahin." Vallahin. Beloved. "Let us not think of that now. We'll face it when it comes."

We wake up to a brilliant morning, the birds of Nadindel singing to us as we dress for the day. Seeing each other's bodies does not faze me anymore. I smile as I see him tug at his wolfhound pendant, securing it over his tunic, and Ifiddle with the ring he gifted me with all those years ago.

He takes my hand as we walk out of our room, and the elves of House Svarthall greet us most respectfully. We echo their greetings as courtesy before we move on.

Fayille waits for us at the central room in the hall, seated upon the throne of the Lord of House Svarthall – one of the twenty-four great houses that still stand. He is dressed once more in the colors of his house, looking far graver than I have ever seen him. "Forgive me," he says. "I have not rested well since last night. Warriors of Osilon have brought dire tidings. Urgals are amassing once more."

Tryndemiel frowns. "Are my sisters well?"

Fayille nods. "No one has been seriously hurt, though Tear will not be able to fight for a few days. Such movement from Urglas has been unheard of since the days of Rider Anurin and Queen Dellanir." He sighs, eyeing the lute lying at the foot of his seat. "I was looking forward to showing you more wonders here in Nadindel, but King has called for a council in Ellesmera. Even Prince Evandar and his new mate have been recalled from their travels outside of Du Weldenvarden."

"Your new position is wearing you down," I note. "Is everything well?"

He smiles at me sadly. "Ash, nothing has been well since I took the Songweaver's Seat."

"If there is anything we can do to help, all you must do is summon us," Tryndemiel says before I can. "

Fayille smiles, looking so much older than his ageless face should reveal. "I thank you both. You do not know how much your friendship means to me."

We exchange a few more pleasantries, and I decide that we will be moving on south to Silthrim. We are still a week away from the Dagshelgr Invocation, and I suppose it won't hurt to stay long enough to witness it.

Brand flexes his wings in excitement. _It would be most interesting to see your brother after all this time. I know you have missed him._

 _I do._ I feel a quiet sort of longing from the very bottom of my being. _I know that he is very busy with his training – he hasn't even earned his markings yet – but I wish he would write._

Tryndemiel rubs the back of my hand. "I'm sure your brother misses you too."

Still, my mind runs with thoughts of our father's house, and why they would seek my brother out. He has nothing to offer them. He is a half-elf, and a novice Painted One. He has no political knowledge, unlike the elves who have been raised and trained from the cradle to twist words and find hidden meanings.

We reach Silthrim in the mid-afternoon, sweet songs emanating from the depths of the forest. Boats flitter to and from the Ardwen Lake and the Gaena River, while elves sit at the shores, working on experiments with magic. Some smiths can be seen working on some intricate metalwork. None of them, I am sure, can still compare to Rhunon-elda. More people stare at us curiously, though I am pleased to note that I sense no dislike from them – merely a burning interest in Tryndemiel's peculiar appearance. After all, I could pass as a human Rider who has reached at least three decades with her dragon. I suppose few elves from Nadindel ventured out enough to catch a glimpse of them, or knew Tryndemiel and therefore made their conclusions about me.

We ask about my brother, and they direct us to House Thranduin's ancestral home – the Asharin Glade, where my father derived my name from.

Elves dressed in the deep blues and blazing silver of our house dot the courtyard, and many of them turn to watch us as we approach. One of them emerge from a hidden entrance among the trees – a tall, fair-haired elf maid with my father's hazel eyes. "What is it that you seek, strangers?" she asks in the ancient tongue.

I decide to respond in kind. "I am Ash, Daughter of Oromis and Rider of Brand, and this is my mate, Tryndemiel of Doru Araeba. I have come to seek my brother, Jotnar of the Painted Ones, Son of Oromis and my full brother."

The elf watches us with impenetrable, ancient eyes. "We wish to know your intentions. No one under the protection of the Spellblade's Seat shall come to harm within these halls."

"I will never wish harm upon my brother in any way," I promise her. "Please, I have not seen my brother in more than twenty years."

"And he is quite scandalized that his younger sister has found herself a most wonderful lover before him." Jotnar emerges from the trees, the thin black markings of a Painted One upon his brow. He smiles and throws his arms around me. "I knew you would come around and realize you have feelings for him."

Tryndemiel grins. "Jotnar has been most kind to me during my stay in Nadindel. He seems amused by my tales about you, though."

"I have missed you," I finally proclaim to my brother.

He turns grim as he regards us and the elf who greeted us. Then, his eyes roam to Brand, who watches him passively. "We must talk, the four of us." He completely ignores the elf lady, whose face turns frosty. He leads us into one of the entrances hidden among the tree branches surrounding the courtyard. "Forgive Lira," he begins as we walk through the wooden halls. "She is quite bitter over my presence here. She is doing her best to spite me."

"We seem to elicit such reactions among multitudes of elves," I note.

He nods andchuckles. "Aye, that is true. At least the Painted Ones have been most kind."

We enter a small study that is as cramped but as cozy as Tryndemiel's, back in Doru Araeba. It gives me a wistful feeling deep in me as we sit around the desk, Brand sticking his head through the door as he is too large to fit.

"Matters must be very dire if your father's house sought you out," Tryndemiel notes as he drums his fingers on the table – a habit whenever he is deep in thought. "I am sure they would rather pretend that we do not exist."

Jotnar shrugs. "A number of them do, but the majority of House Thranduin do not. They sought me out as they needed a new head of their house – as Oromis son, they thought it would be fitting for me to take the post as his sister has been killed in battle without any children. It seems like she was the only casualty during a skirmish with Urgals in the outskirts of Ellesmera last month."

I barely notice that I have raised my eyebrows. "And they deliberately sought out a half-elf? Someone which most elves scorn?"

Jotnar nods. "It seems like they are more than willing to ignore the fact that I cannot fully embrace such a lineage, if only for the fact that I am a prominent Rider's son. That is why Lira is so unhappy. If they did not seek me out, she would be the next suitable candidate for the position. She believes that they have shunned her for a lesser being."

I feel my blood boil at that statement. Despite acting so high and mighty, it seems like most elves are foolish enough to think that everyone outside of their race do not deserve to be treated like people. "There must be a way for them to learn their lesson," I muse.

Tryndemiel grins. "Oh, but there is, vallahin." He turns to my brother. "I suppose you have accepted the offer, then?"

My brother echoes his smile. "But of course."

"And there Lira was, pretending that you were a mere guest," I say with a snort.

Jotnar's eyes glint with mischief. "Oh, she does not know what she has started, my dear sister."

"Will this not interfere with your training as a Painted One, though?" Tryndemiel asks. Oh, a good point.

"I have completed it, fear not. I have left with oaths heavy upon my tongue. Should the swords of the Painted Ones be needed, I shall fight alongside both their order and my House." Jotnar leans, serious once more. "I have heard of Father and that elven Rider. Her name is Freynera, is it not?"

"You're correct." I smile a little at the memory of their lovely daughter – our half-sister. "She has given birth to a most lovely child named Lysara. I hope you have it in your heart to forgive him and visit."

Jotnar's face darkens for a second. "I know, Ash. I know. It is just so difficult to believe that he has found someone else to replace Mother in his life."

I understand where he is coming from. "I was angry for a while, too."

My brother smiles. "Maybe it will not hurt to approach him, then. Thank you, Ash. You know, I wanted to see you so much, after everything that happened in the past years."

"And I felt the same," I admit with a smile.

We spend two months in Silthrim, as a good number of House Thranduin were genuinely pleased to meet us. Lira and her supporters stay in the periphery, giving us sullen looks while trying to make our lives much, much harder. Jotnar is unfazed though, and he says he already has a plan to put them in their place without outright humiliating them.

We eventually move on to Ellesmera itself, though we simply stay long enough to see the architecture and visit the local outpost.

* * *

By the time we leave Du Weldenvarden, it is summer once more. We visit Gil'ead for some news about the human society, and the biggest one we hear of is the fact that Prince Avhan has been taken off the line of succession by his sire. He has been exiled in Aberon to the far south.

Kuasta is still as lively and vibrant as evern when we decide to return and follow up on Tryndemiel's family. All the sounds and colors seem to fade so quickly when we learn that his aunt, Resela, passed away just a fortnight ago.

I follow a dazed Tryndemiel to a nearby cemetery, and we stop by his aunt's grave. I quietly sing to urge some wildflowers to bloom around it, as a tribute to the family that my lover never knew he had until it was almost too late.

We spend two weeks in Kuasta and move on to Belatona, and then south to Petrovya and Lithgow, where we stay for the winter. It is, at least, milder in the south compared to the rest of Alagaesia. We spend a short while in Aberon so that we do not cross paths with Prince Avhan, and we veer to the east and the lone Rider outpost among the Beor Mountains, straight in the heart of Farthen Dur, where we meet the forty-first king of dwarves, Hravald of Durgrimst Gedtrhall.

By the time we return to Teirm, it is fall once more and a small bustling town has grown around the port. Jotnar has sent word that he will visit by next winter. Freynera has given birth to another daughter – Serylda, who is fair-haired like Oromis and I, but has her mother's vivid eyes.

Winter passes and we stay with our father's new family once more. Once spring arrives, we decide to return to Doru Araeba to continue the work we left behind almost twenty-five years ago.

* * *

 **Aaaand, a short update! My keyboard is broken and typing is a chore. Unfortunately. I'll buy a new one tomorrow to start working again though! XD**

 **I don't want to spoil about Shruikan that much though, but I could say with confidence that the long, long post-war chapters will take him to Du Weldenvarden.**

 **For some reason I'm tempted to stick a purple dragoness as Tryndemiel's future fire-breathing partner.**

 **We'll be having a big timeskip mid-chapter 20, but I don't want to spoil that much. xD I don't want to elaborate on Ash's uneventful years...**

 **Do you guys want to see Eoran and Sevanna again soon?**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	20. Fire in the Midst of Winter

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, unfortunately.**

* * *

 **Chapter 20: Fire in the Midst of Winter**

Twenty years pass with no incident. I join the Rider scholars of Doru Araeba, working directly under the new Master Archivist Zahin of the Belatona and her dragon Sulirna, and Tryndemiel returns to the civilian scholars so we may resume our studies without any further interruptions. We receive regular letters from Fayille, Jotnar, and even Oromis who has reconciled with my brother. Sevanna and Eoran occassionally make contact too, but they have only set foot in Doru Araeba once. They are working as ambassadors to the ailing Dwarf King. We regularly visit Tryndemiel's relatives in Kuasta, too, and Mother's distant relations from Carvahall.

I receive word that Serylda has been chosen as a new Rider, but will be staying in Teirm as Oromis' new apprentice. I send word of congratulations when Freynera visits Doru Araeba in late fall, bringing news of unease in the south.

The ousted Prince Avhan, now a man nearing his fifties, has taken up arms in Aberon against his younger brother, the newly-crowned King Alhamir. I could feel history repeating itself, remembering the royal discord that sent us south and cost our first teachers their lives. I could sense the tension among my fellow Riders too, especially as Vrael announced over breakfast that he is considering who to send south. For some reason, I find myself wishing that I would be among those who would be selected.

Tryndemiel is concerned, though he does not comment on the issue.

Lately when we retire to bed for the night, thoughts of honey-eyed children begin to cross my mind. I am afraid to breach the subject with him though, for fear of him not sharing the same wishes as I. He has grown proficient in defending his mind, almost as good as a Rider, but mindbreaking and advanced magic are still beyond his reach. For now though, I do not mind.

Winter arrives like a harsh blow, wrapping its icy fingers around Doru Araeba, coating the sea with its sluggish breath. The Riders of the Tower and the rest of Doru Araeba are summoned to a meeting in the Great Hall with Vrael and the three other Elders currently present in the city. No one is speaking. We are all anticipating the announcement regarding the matter of the rebellion. Of course, not one soul would look forward to the battle and the deaths, but for some reason I find myself wishing with even more intensity that I will ride south to battle – as if doing so would cleanse me of my long-buried guilt in regards to my teachers. It is as if finally being strong enough to hold my own in battle would make me forgive myself for everything that went wrong that day, whether I had control over the circumstances or not.

 _You have carried this guilt for years and years,_ Brand whispers in my mind. _Despite knowing that we were all hatchlings thrust in the midst of our elders' bloodlust. None of it was your fault, or mine. We did what we could, nothing more and nothing less._

He kept saying as much throughout the decades, and yet Masters Barthfer and Gelfring's deaths still weigh heavily upon my heart whenever I have time to think and reminisce. I could feel the old pain, the old guilt, as I take my seat near the back of the hall, one of the youngest and least prominent Riders in attendance. There is nothing but silence in the Great Hall as we wait for the meeting to convene. I wrap my cloak around me, trying to stave off the cold in my body and soul.

Elder Vrael sweeps into the room, his pale white cloak like an extension of winter. Behind him are the three other Elders residing in Doru Araeba – brown-clad Meltina, the silver Rider Amestran, and the lone human, the black Rider Galad.

A hush falls in our small congregation as their mere arrival snuffs out the tiniest and most muffled of murmurs.

I could feel concern from both Brand and Tryndemiel at the back of my head, as I have started making a habit of letting both of them stay in my mind all the time. Fear and anticipation seems to roll from everyone in the room like cascading waves, and I steel myself to better protect myself. I do not want to be swept out of control by the passions of my companions.

Vrael watches us with his somber gray eyes. "My friends, I am sure that you have all heard of the trouble that beseiges the southern lands of the human race," he begins. If I did not know better, I would have thought that I could touch the stillness in the air as he commands our attention. "King Alhamir's brother,the exiled Prince Avhan, seeks to sow doscord upon the land. Once more, someone has gathered the support of the fiery south, wishing to conquer their homeland or split it in two."

I could also sense what he did not wish to mention – that Riders from that region might turn their backs on our order once more and attempt to fight us.

"We have decided upon those who we shall be sending to bolster our forces in the area." Vrael's eyes seem to sharpen. He begins mentioning names, and I hear mine among the two dozen he has announced.

I barely catch the last words he utters – that we are to leave tomorrow at daybreak, and may bring one companion, whether a fellow Rider or not.

Once we finish the meeting, we all sweep out of the room in a daze. A sense of hope takes hold of me, and I am sure that this would be a way for me to redeem myself – if only in my own eyes. I search for Tryndemiel among the throngs of people walking the streets of Doru Araeba, as he is not forthcoming with his location. Brand soars above me, savoring our last day of freedom before we are to depart for the southern lands.

We find him seated by his father's grave, dressed warmly for the weather. He watches me approach, face flushed from the cold. "Are you well?" he asks, eyes trained on my face. He runs a hand through his dark hair. "I suppose you're taking me with you."

I smile. "I'm well – better than before. Of course I will be taking you with me. There is no better shield mate for such a fight." I glance at Brand. "Fire and steel will be our weapons."

He shakes his head sadly and stands up. "I still can't believe that Avhan is that much of an idiot."

"There's nothing we could do about it now," I say quietly. I let him take my hand. "So will you fight by my side?"

"Always," he says with an almost imperceptible smile, an odd kind of light dancing in the depths of his eyes. "You will never have to ride to battle without me again, unless you ask otherwise."

The icy clutches of the winter wind embrace as as we take off at dawn – twenty-four Rider and dragon pairs bolstered by a few apprentices. I am the only one who takes a civilian with me, but no one speaks out against it. Everyone understands what it is like to ride into battle and leaving a beloved behind. I won't let that happen, not when he is better with the blade than I am.

We're still some distance away when someone at the head of our group lets out a cry. Smoke is unfurling from the area of Melian, a small town built around a trade outpost. Our dragons begin flying faster, as we are aware that the nearest Rider outpost is in Cithri, and we are much nearer. We close the distance to the town, which is surrounded by thousands of armed rebels facing down a smaller host of the king's army.

Arrows fly toward our faces, deflected by our wards. We circle their forces, two dragons attempting to rain down fiery death upon them. Only a few were incinerated on the spot. Magicians are among their ranks, hidden but definitely existing. We land a small distance from the small army, deflecting a few more arrows along the way. Those of us who are most proficient in blades dismount our dragons, and we begin to march toward our foes, while some of the spellcasters are brought directly to Melian to quench to fires and rescue the civilians. I engage in a deadly dance with our foes, beheading a tall rebel and plunging my blade into another's neck. The tired soldiers cheer for us, heartened by our aid.

I dodge a ball of fire headed my way and begin looking for the foolish mage who decided to reveal himself. I exchange blows with at least four warriors when I finally find the mage in question. His face is scrunched up in concentration as he mumbles words from the ancient language. His dark eyes seem to gleam as I approach and launch an attack on his mind. His eyes flash and he thrusts his hand forward, unleashing a bolt of lightning. I duck and lop off his head with my sword before the rebels could run to his aid.

Despite the fac that our foes have the advantage of numbers, having a group of Riders definitely turned the tide of battle on our side. We make short work of our foes, and the few survivors flee. We let them go, at Elder Galad's behest. That would send a message to Prince Avhan, and hopefully convince him to surrender.

I find Tryndemiel standing nearby, blood streaming from his wounded left arm. I run to him, lips forming the healing spell as I close the distance between us. He smiles as the bleeding stops. "Thank you. A mage tried to kill me and I wasn't able to dodge the chunks of rocks he sent my way on time. He paid for this wound with his life."

"As I would have killed him if you didn't," I tell him with a smile. "I am glad that you are unharmed."

Eyes aglow, we join the throng of defenders marching into Melian. We spend some time helping the city in mitigating the damage caused by the rebel forces. By nightfall, an envoy approaches from Avhan's camp, which is situated halfway to Cithri.

Our group gathers at the city gates, mounted on our dragons, as Elder Galad and his dragon Ramas meet him. We could feel the tension in the air, and I'm sure that I could cut it with my sword if I wanted to. I could feel Tryndemiel's arms tighten around my waist in anticipation. _Whatever the message from Avhan will be, I am sure that it will be not be anything good,_ he tells me.

 _Whatever it will be, we will fight together,_ I reply.

 _Hush, little ones,_ Brand scolds us. _Let us listen to what these fools have to say._

We look on again, watching the events unfolding before us. "Prince Avhan spits upon your false assurances of peace," the messenger cries out. "He, in his wisdom, knows the deceptions that Riders and their allies are capable of. He will not surrender. Not to Riders such as you, who know nothing of royal matters. He was born for the throne, and he will fight for it."

Galad's eyes darken. "Then tell your Prince that we will do as the ancient treaties between the races have decreed for us. We will fight for the rightful side – the true King's."

"So be it, Rider. You have sealed your fate. We will strike Melian at dawn."

We watch the messenger ride away,and Galad raises his hand to stop everyone from shooting him. "Avhan is mad. Truly and irrevocably mad," Tryndemiel says out loud, voice shaking.

I nod. "Without his father to temper him, like when we first met him years ago, it seems like he has truly lost his mind."

Everyone is thrown in a frenzy. We prepare to march and meet Avhan's forces halfway, while Elder Galad contacts the Riders from the Cithri, Feinster, Lithgow and Petrovya outposts for reinforcements. He also sends messages to the soldiers who are on their way to Melian, giving them new instructions. A small number of soldiers and three Riders will be staying in Melian in case Prince Avhan had the foresight to attack from a different direction using some men that are currently not accounted for in his four hundred thousand-strong host.

We begin the long march to Cithri. Not wanting to make ourselves prime targets for archers and javelin throwers, thereby wasting the energy we spent on wards. We march at the back of the soldiers we have managed to gather, the cold winter air biting our lungs as the sun begins to set. Even the cloaks above our pieces of armor and Tryndemiel's arms around me do little to stave off the growing chill.

 _I don't want to be afraid, but I am,_ he finally says, halfway to the glowing lights that indicate Avhan's forces. _No, I'm not afraid that I would get hurt. I'm afraid that you would._

 _Little star-seeker, do you think I would let such a thing happen to my Rider again?_ Brand asks, clearly annoyed.

 _We all fear for the safety of the ones we love,_ I speak up in his defense. _As I fear for the two of you._

The two armies finally close their distance between each other as midnight arrives. Avhan rides his white stallion at the head of his rebel army, lance at the ready. He is older – much, much older – but I do not doubt that his skill with the weapon faded. Capture him though, and the rebellion shall break.

Fire dances around us as we leap into the fray, fighting our way through the throngs of warriors, hoping to capture Avhan and end his rebellion before it spreads to the rest of the Brodring Kingdom. Brand takes to the skies above us and begins to clear the way for us, burning and tearing at the foes. He is death personified, bringing fire and blood upon all of our foes.

I'm not sure about what is happening. Everything is a blur of weapons and magic. Tryndemiel and I stay together this time, shields raised side-by-side as we cut our way through our foes. It seems like luck is on our side tonight, though. We find ourselves near the enemy cavalry, and Prince Avhan himself.

 _We have to unhorse him,_ Tryndemiel says.

I grin. _Leave that to me._ I begin intoning a spell, testing the wards around the prince while still in the middle of battle. Oromis once told me that doing so is not an easy feat, but here I am, doing more than what I expected myself to be capable of, years and years ago.

I take down a mage and find a weakness in the prince's wards. They were made to deflect direct blows from spells and weapons, but not from the environment. My lips curl up in a smile and glance at Tryndemiel. _You are faster than me,_ I say, hitting a warrior in the temple with the pommel of my blade. _Be ready._

 _What are you planning?_ Tryndemiel asks, parrying a warhammer's blow with his shield.

 _Just be ready to take the prince,_ I growl.

I gather all the strength I could muster and utter a quick spell. The ground beneath the prince begins to shake, making his horse rear and panic. Surprised, the prince is thrown off. He is not as young and fit as he was before, despite his undiminished skill in battle. As quick as the wind, Tryndemiel leaps forward and presses his blade against the prince's exposed neck.

As realization dawns upon the warriors surrounding us, the battle slowly stops like a ripple, starting from our area and slowly moving outward to the fringes of the battlefield.

With their leader captured, it doesn't take much convincing for the rest of the surviving forces to surrender. We begin the long march to Gil'ead, where appropriate justice is brought upon them by the king. No one is executed, as many of the people who fought were simply misguided. The Riders assigned in the southern outposts would be increased to keep an eye out of them, though.

We are thanked for our feats in the battle, and for ending the rebellion by capturing Avhan, who will now be imprisoned in the dungeons, and the branch of his family permanently exiled to Aberon. In Doru Araeba, Vrael himself welcomes us and congratulates us for our feats.

I feel a weight in my heart lifting, after more than four decades.

I am weak and reckless no more.

As I lay in Tryndemiel's embrace the night we return to the tower, the image of children burst through my thoughts once more, burning brighter and brighter despite my efforts to hold them off. I don't think I would make a good mother, though. And I'm not sure that Tryndemiel would want to have them, either, after what happened to his own parents.

With Prince Avhan imprisoned, three years pass in peace. I never do breach the topic of having children, though I am tempted so many times. Even Tryndemiel seems to have something he is hesitant to say, and refrains from doing so.

Father informs us that Lysana has departed for Silthrim to aid Jotnar in his task as head of House Thranduin, and her bitterness that she was not chosen as a Rider. He also mentions that he will be moving back to Ilirea with Freynera and Serylda, so that my youngest half-sister may complete her studies the way I did. He also mentions returning to Doru Araeba and await new apprentices once Serylda finishes her training.

There is still a feeling of unease in the air though, as if the world is simply holding its breath until something terrible arrives and brings its wrath upon our peaceful land.

* * *

 **One of the longest chapters I've written lately, and mostly done in one sitting. Heh.**

 **We'll be having a big, big timeskip next chapter, and also possibly meet a character from the main stories. Who do you think is it?**

 **Prince Avhan's descendant is alive and kicking (so far) in the main stories too! Can you guess who it is?**

 **Eoran and Sevanna will be making a lovely, lovely appearance next chapter because I know you guys miss them. Heehee.**

 **I'll also be setting up some stuff that will be important for Bloodwar very soon, and I hope you guys aren't put off by the spoilers.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	21. Between the Stars and Waves

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **Cheesiness abound. Skip this chapter if you don't want to die of kidney failure.**

* * *

 **Chapter 21: Between the Stars and Waves**

Truly, time passes by ever so quickly when the land is at peace. Though it still waits with bated breath for darkness to unfold, a great number of years pass without much to note of. Jotnar remains in Silthrim as the lord of House Thranduin and a Painted One, aided by his new right-hand, our half-sister Lysana. Oromis moves to Ilirea with Freynera, and Serylda finishes her training ten years after Prince Avhan's uprising. Tryndemiel and I stay together, very much in love, though I speak not of my wish to have children for fear of him rejecting the idea. We still visit our distant relations in Kuasta and Carvahall, and we recently celebrate the birth of his aunt's descendant, Holcomb.

Before I know it, eighty years have passed since Brand's hatching.

I can taste the sweet winds of spring upon my tongue. The air is rife with anticipation as it is almost time for us to greet a new set of apprentice Riders. Envoys have already been sent throughout the land for the Hatching Ceremonies, and everyone is busy preparing to greet them. Elder Vrael approached me a few days ago, asking if I would like to take an apprentice. I decline, though. I'm afraid that I don't have much to teach them.

Tryndemiel and I have finally made so much progress in the research we've started and decided to compile everything we've learned in a book. It is already complete, the manuscript ready to be delivered to Kuasta when we visit the area in two weeks. We are surprised by three letters in our study this morning – one from Jotnar and Lysara in Silthrim, another from Eoran and Sevanna who are working in the council for the Edoc'sil outpost in Palancar Valley, and the last from Oromis, Freynera, and Serylda in Ilirea. It seems like they will all be visiting Doru Araeba in two weeks, and want to meet with us on the same day, in the same place.

It is odd. Definitely odd.

I show the letters to Tryndemiel, and he raises his eyebrows. "I do not think that this is coincidence, vallahin," he says, fingers fumbling and accidentally dropping the three thick scrolls of parchment. He smiles at me, though it looks a little reserve.

"You're acting odd," I tell him, raising my eyebrows.

He shakes his head. "I was just flustered, that's all." He rubs his chest. "Your father will be coming. Your father. Father. Despite the fact that we have been together for years and years and years, Oromis-elda still terrifies me."

I smile. "Well, I have heard that many lovers are terrified of their lady's father," I say idly as I arrange the papers on our table. "Just be you."

He watches me, anxiety still burning in those lovely eyes of his. He looks away, cheeks burning a vividly lovely red. He arranges some papers and sets them on one side while he picks up a fallen paintbrush. I watch him smooth over the latest chart he did of the night sky, still amazed at what he could do. After training for a few years with his illuminator relatives – we were away from each other for a while as I trained with the archivists too – he has improved so much.

I have an odd feeling that he really is hiding something from me, which is now easier for him as he has learned to control and protect his thoughts.

The next two weeks pass ever so quickly. Fayille visits us as a surprise and would be staying for a month while some ladies of his house visit a member who lives in the merchant district of the city. Our old friend stays in the tower just like he did in our youth. His music graces our halls once more and reminds me of the old days and the sweet summer of childhood.

On the day that everyone else close to us will be arriving in Doru Araeba, I wake up feeling exhausted as I haven't been able to sleep well. I am both excited and anxious as I have a feeling that something big will happen today – in a good way or a bad way, I can't really tell yet.

We stay in the gardens all day, deciding to forgo all research over the duration of all these visits. It is a lovely spring morning, the flowers are in full bloom, and the dragons are all roaring and breathing fire above us.

Yes, it's a typical morning in Doru Araeba.

The first to arrive would be Jotnar and Lysana, straight from the docks of Vroengard. They are clad in the colors of House Thranduin, though brighter and lovelier to match the spring season. Lysana gives me a reserved smile as befits her as an elf, but Jotnar lets out a loud whoop and throws his arms around me. His eyes are aglow as he smiles at us. "I was expecting a little niece or nephew running between our knees already," he says with a pointed look directed our way.

Tryndemiel laughs nervously. "In good time, my friend."

Jotnar narrows his eyes. "You better."

I feel myself turn red. Are they talking about what I think they are?

 _You are still as ridiculous as ever,_ Brand notes, landing right behind us. He inclines his head to a wide-eyed Lysara. _Well met, elf. Last we saw you, you were but a babe in your mother's arms._

Lysara bows her head. _It is an honor, mighty dragon._

Jotnar watches the sky. "Where are the others, then? The letter said every other friend and family will be visiting today."

"What letter?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. Did someone plan this?

He smiles and shakes his head. "You will know soon enough, sister."

Half an hour of idle talk, two massive shadows soar above us. Bright yellow Chelhamen and deep violet Larsahin – who almost seems black most of the time – land with their Riders, Sevanna and Eoran. The two Riders beam at us as they dismount, and I am suddenly caught in a tangle of wild golden hair and the scent of Petrovyan perfumes. Sevanna watches me with bright lovely eyes, greener and brighter than mine, and I am surprised to realize that I am now taller than her.

Eoran beams at us, and I am still amused by the fact that I used to be so besotted by him. He is still a good and steadfast friend, though, and I should not be complaining. His gray eyes glimmer brightly as he claps Tryndemiel's shoulder and gives me a happy nod. "We've been away from Doru Araeba far too long," he notes. "Not much seems to have changed on the surface, but I am sure that a lot of it is different now."

I smile at that. "We are not children anymore, for one thing."

That makes Jotnar laugh. "Most definitely not."

We expect Oromis' party to arrive next, but it seems like we are mistaken. Fayille arrives on horseback, as it seems like he spent the earlier part of the morning – but with him are not the three elf maids who accompanied him to Doru Araeba. Golden-eyed Tear,Tryndemiel's elder half-sister, rides beside Fayille himself. Her curly brown hair hangs loose and wild down her back, like the mother she shared with my lover. She smiles as she approaches us, inclining her head to me.

"Rider Ash," she begins. "We have met."

"We have, Tear-elda," I murmur.

Behind her are two more elf maids. One of them is tall, lovely, and willowy, her hair a mass of silvery curls. Her eyes are golden, like Tear's. She dismounts her white stallion and walks to us. She inclines her head to Tryndemiel and then stands right in front of me, statuesque, unbending. "I am Rook of House Valtharos," she finally says as she apparently deems me acceptable.

"And I am Ash of Ilirea, Rider of Brand," I say, deciding not to use my father's house as my own. "I am of no house, as I have not fully embraced the customs of your people."

"And rightly so," she says in her deep, throaty voice.

 _Why is she from Valtharos?_ I ask Tryndemiel.

 _Her sire came from them. She was born two centuries older than Tear and Gail, who were born from a lesser house and therefore joined our mother's,_ he explains. _She lives alone in Nadindel, though. Do not be put out by her. She is much kinder than she shows._

At the mention of that name, my eyes roam to the third lady – a short elf with a mischievous face that matches her fiery red curls. Her eyes are every bit as golden as Tear's, and they peer at me with unmatched curiosity. "Our brother couldn't stop talking about you when he lived in our halls," she says with a chuckle. "I think I understand why, Rider. I am Gail, Tear's younger full sister."

"Well met, Gail." I turn to the haughty eldest. "Well met, Rook."

As we complete the necessary exchange of politeness, Oromis' party finally arrives, and I see young Serylda's blood-red dragon, Aegar, for the first time. As most of the people surrounding us are elves, more polite greetings are exchanged. I could see Tryndemiel getting more and more jumpy as the minutes pass by, and I wonder what he is up to.

I have a feeling that he is the one who summoned all of those gathered here today.

As we satiate all the required courtesies, Oromis turns to us. "We will be waiting inside. It seems like your young mate has something to ask you," he says, pale eyes glittering in amusement.

Tryndemiel turns white at that statement, and we watch our family and friends head into the tower as Oromis' guests. Curiously, even Brand follows, not wishing to disclose what he knows. We are left alone at our spot in the lovely garden, awash in the vivid colors of spring. He turns to me, beautiful eyes aglow. I note the flecks of brighter gold in their honey hue, and I find myself reflecting the sudden smile that is blooms from his face.

"There is something you are hiding from me," I say breathlessly, sounding very much like the Rider girl fresh from Ilirea, giddy and nervous all at once.

His smile grows and grows, and he looks so much like the quiet scholar boy from Doru Araeba with muted passion in his once tired, sad eyes. "I invited them all here," he begins quickly,speaking with a fiery fervor that I once noted when I first stepped into his study, eighty years ago. "Five days from now, it will be eighty years to the day since we've first met. I've been preparing for this day for months and months, hoping that I will get everything right, especially for you."

"What are you talking about?" I ask. My thoughts are forming an incoherrent mess in the back of my head, but I am afraid to catch them and force them into sense, afraid that I am wrong.

He looks so vulnerable all of a sudden. "On your first nameday here in Doru Araeba, I gave you a ring, thinking that human men did it all the time with their close female friends." His eyes flicker to the ring I still wear on the fourth finger of my right hand. "You corrected me, telling me it is actually reserved for betrothal. Still, you accepted it as a sign of our friendship."

I smile, remembering that memory with fondness. "We were young, with no idea about what the future would bring us."

He nods, and he seems to gain more and confidence as he speaks. "We also talked about the elven concept of mates when we finally reached Du Weldenvarden together, and decided that it is lacking something vital. It could not fully encompass the concept of real love, untainted by the stormy fickleness that elves are known for. We both agreed that humans understood true love better." He smiles and holds out his hand. A ring rests on his palm, made of woven strips of tinted gold in different hues, like the first gift he gave me. Small green, blue, and deep yellow diamonds are mounted, delicately crafted into small roses. "I've procured a proper betrothal ring, if you would have me as a husband."

A rush of sensations dance within my heart, and I feel my knees weakening. All the breath rushes out of my lungs. He wants to marry me. Me, of all people!

"You do know that if I say yes, there would be no turning back until the day one of us dies, right?" I finally find the courage to speak, and I am surprised by how shaky my voice is.

I could see disappointment in his eyes, and I'm afraid that he has misunderstood me. "I know, that's why I am asking you to think about it properly – if in case you do not feel the same way as I do. I will not hold it against you, vallahin. I swear it upon my father's grave."

"I do feel the same way," I whisper, laying my hand on his palm and trapping the ring between us. "I have and always will. I am afraid that you might not feel the same way if you find out that I want us to have children someday, though."

His eyes sparkle with mirth. "I have always wanted them too. As many as we could." He smiles and captures my lips with his. "Will you take me as I am, Ash? A simple young scholar with no name, no power, no gold?"

"You are more wonderful and more magnificent than any lord that I will behold. And will you take me as Iam, then, Tryndemiel? A simple girl from Ilirea with no talents, no beauty, no inheritance?" I feel my heart filled to bursting with all the love I could hold for him.

"You are brilliant and glorious," he says, slipping the ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand. "I could marry you now."

"I could say the same," I tell him with a laugh.

"Your father proposed that we marry in five days," he finally says after a while. "I already had a dress made for you, all preparations for where and how we are to marry by the sea. Your father agreed months and months ago when I wrote to him of my plans, and he agreed to the ceremony despite the fact that it would be foreign to him as an elf. That is why I called all our family and friends – so that if you agreed, they would be able to attend."

I throw my arm around him, fighting the urge to weep from joy. "This means so much to me, vallahin."

He smiles, as if I have given him the world. "And it means the world and the skies above us to me, vallahin."

He takes my hand, and we walk to the tower together to tell everyone the good news.

* * *

 **You read everything in this chapter correctly! Yes! If you cannot contain your screaming I shall also be screaming with you so do not fear!**

 **Wedding shenanigans abound next chapter and a teeny tiny timeskip afterward. We'll be meeting a few of the future Forsworn too! Don't expect Morzan who still hasn't been born at this point, though.**

 **Oh oh oh! We'll be tackling the matter of their missing kids in time, don't worry!**

 **Might update Bloodwar first though, there won't be any AtA spoilers since I'll be tackling the opening scene from Inheritance. And a hilarious enemy scene with Tryndemiel since he's still such a kid after all this time. Heh.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	22. The Starseeker and the Spellblade

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, unfortunately.**

* * *

 _ **Merrily we fall**_  
 _ **Out of line, out of line**_  
 _ **I'd fall anywhere with you**_  
 _ **I'm by your side**_

 _ **Swinging in the rain**_  
 _ **Humming melodies**_  
 _ **We're not going anywhere until we freeze**_

 _ **I'm not afraid, anymore**_  
 _ **I'm not afraid**_

 _ **Forever is a long time**_  
 _ **But I wouldn't mind spending it by your side**_

 _ **Carefully we're placed for our destiny**_  
 _ **You came and you took this heart, and set it free**_  
 _ **Every word you write or sing is so warm to me, so warm to me**_  
 _ **I'm torn, I'm torn to be right where you are**_

 _ **I'm not afraid, anymore**_  
 _ **I'm not afraid**_

 _ **Forever is a long time**_  
 _ **But I wouldn't mind spending it by your side**_  
 _ **Tell me everyday I get to wake up to that smile**_  
 _ **I wouldn't mind it at all**_  
 _ **I wouldn't mind it at all**_

 _ **You so know me**_  
 _ **Pinch me gently**_  
 _ **I can hardly breathe**_

 _ **Forever is a long, long time**_  
 _ **But I wouldn't mind spending it by your side**_  
 _ **Tell me everyday I get to wake up to that smile**_  
 _ **I wouldn't mind it at all**_  
 _ **I wouldn't mind it at all**_

* * *

 **Chapter 22: The Starseeker and the Spellblade**

I am pleased that no one objects to the wedding, but I am upset that they have decided to keep Tryndemiel and I away until the wedding. My stomach flutters as Tear drags me away to join her, Lysara, Sevanna and Serylda for a walk around Doru Araeba, while Jotnar and Fayille put their arms around my – my betrothed's shoulders, Eoran pushing them forward.

"I have only been to Ilirea a few times before," Serylda admits as we walk through the streets. "Only when it is required and nothing more."

"What did you take up after your travels?" Sevanna asks, stopping to look at bolts of silvery cloth on a textile merchant's stall. "Hmm, do you think this shall look lovely on my skin? I need a new cloak, I believe."

"Wonderful, if you love silk," Lysara agrees idly. "You might have to think about it again in winter, though."

Serylda smiles timidly, though I see a hint of excited fire in her eyes. "I have taken up a post as a warrior in Aberon. Elves are not known for solely relying in their blades, but I found that I love using my sword first and foremost in matters that do not require diplomacy."

Sevanna echoes her smile with fondness. "You remind me of your half-sister."

"Sister," Serylda and Lysara say reflexively. "She is our sister and Jotnar is our brother."

"Oromis and Freynera have taught you well," Tear notes,examining the cloth that Sevanna is still fawning over. "We could ask dear Gail to embroider it for you, if you have any sigil in mind."

Sevanna eyes me with a soft chuckle. "I'd rather not upstage the bride. I have seen my fair share of weddings, and I am sure that she would not appreciate it."

I smile brightly though I feel my stomach flutter at being called a bride. "I would cut your head off, Sevanna of Therinsford."

Tear sighed. "I have never seen a wedding. It sounds most romantic, though."

"It is a most enlightening experience, elf," Sevanna says with a chuckle. "Especially in regards to your custom of simply taking a mate – whether for a year or a day."

Serylda peers up at the brilliant sky. "As an elf, I think it would be educational – if not for the fact that I have heard so much about you and Tryndemiel, sister. I think I am more excited than what is appropriate."

"Feel what you want to," Lysara says with a dreamy look upon her face. "We must not copy our race's mistakes. Or so, that is what Jotnar tells me all the time."

"Your brother is quite the interesting lord," Tear says. "I have seen him frequently in Nadindel."

By the time I return to my room, I see the most lovely dress laid out on my bed. It is made of the loveliest silk that I have ever seen, a bodice of deep blue, the skirts violet, both shot with black. It is devoid of embroidery, adorned only with the silvery threads used for the stitching.

 _Tryndemiel left it here about an hour before you returned,_ Brand says, eyes aglow even from his spot near the concealed balcony. _He said that it is traditional for a bride to wear a dress. You know, I have never seen you in one before._

 _I have never worn a dress in my entire life,_ I point out. Being raced in a Rider outpost, we grew up garbed in the elven fashion, which forgoes dresses and skirts. They wouldn't be practical or comfortable, anyway. I feel my eyes tearing up. _It is beautiful, and I would be more than honored to wear this. I wish he didn't have to spend anything, though._

Over the next three days, Tryndemiel leaves little gifts while I am away showing the city to our guests. He leaves shoes next, boots dyed in the colors of my dress and also adornedwith silver stitching. Next is a simple necklace with an exquisite pendant shaped like an eagle in flight, made of multicolored pendants and set in gold. Lastly, on the night before the wedding, he leaves a simple wreath of roses – roses made of glass, every flower a different vivid color, the stalks made of green-dyed gold.

He is remindingme of the role I once had in Gil'ead – as a tourney's Lady of the Roses.

He has completed everything I will be wearing for the wedding, and yet I have given him nothing in return. As my only surviving parent is an elf, I doubt that he would provide us with dowry, and I was thoughtless enough not to find something to give my betrothed for the occasion.

Despite the late hour, Brand and I find ourselves in the middle of Doru Araeba, searching for something that would suit my needs. The entire situation feels so familiar. I recall finding myself in a similar predicament when I searched for a nameday gift – also for Tryndemiel, I note with a wry smile. As if bidden by something, Brand marches to the place of the shop that we also ended up in all those years ago.

I am surprised to see that the shop of curiosities is still open.

A woman tends to the counter, shorter than an average human, and looking naturally youthful. Her curly dark hair is tied back with a silver ribbon that matches the color of her eyes. She looks every bit like the shopkeeper I met years and years ago, so I believe she is a descendant and her ancestor's blood ran strong enough to cause an uncanny resemblance.

She smiles as I enter the shop and rushes to me. "Looking for something, Rider?" she asks eagerly.

Brand was kind enough to stay away from the shop so as not to reveal my position. I narrow my eyes at her, sure that we have never met before. "How do you know?"

The woman smiles. "Why the fuss?" she asks, rummaging through her shelves. "The phsyiognomies of human Riders is a universal knowledge to those who live here."

Such big words for a lowly shopkeep. I keep my mouth shut, though. "I'm looking for a gift – something for my betrothed."

"A man unlike any other, neither just a regular human or elf?" she smiles, and I fear the knowledge that lights up her otherwise lifeless eyes.

A shudder runs down my spine as my throat constricts. My mind tells me that she is trustworthy despite the fact that every other part of my being screams for me to leave, to do something about this odd woman. Even Brand seems to trust her in a fashion, and he also feels the same contradictions running in my mind. "That is something that any woman would say about her lover," I say with my most gracious smile.

The knowing look on the woman's face fades, replaced by the most foolishly giddy smile I have ever seen. "Well then, I know just the impeccably marvelous gift! It would suit a man that would most likely be as loyal as those valley hounds I've heard of."

There it is again. She is speaking as if she knows Tryndemiel and me. I hope against hope that it is mere coincidence. After all, Palancar Valley's wolfhounds are well-known for their fierce loyalty to their masters and their own litter. She holds out a book in a cover of violet and blue, adorned with silver thread. Just like my dress. They bear the colors of House Rilvenar of the Starseeker Seat, and House Thranduin of the Spellblade Seat.

I thank her and pay. Brand waits for me outside with concern filling his thoughts. _Such an odd woman. I know we should not trust her, but something else tells me that we should._

 _I know._ I stare at the book before leafing through it.

It contains songs and tales about the night sky, and legends surrounding it. Everything in this book has never been seen before in our years of study. I feel my skin tingling in fear and excitement, but beat it down. I will be presenting this book to Tryndemiel tomorrow. Its contents should not be seen by my eyes first.

I wake up early on the fifth day, the early morning sun's golden tendrils slowly crawling into my room. The city outside seems awash with colors when I peer through the windows as Doru Araeba slowly eases into a new day – the day that the apprentices from throughout the land will be meeting their new masters, like I did eighty years ago.

And today, I will be wed in the human way.

I feel my knees go weak as the sudden realization hits me, and I find the sudden need to sit down. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, and my stomach churns in sheer excitement. Brand peers at me through his perch on the balcony.

 _I am so happy for you, little one._ His eyes brim both with happiness and loneliness. Throughout all these years, we have been together. We have shared everything… and now, in a way, he will be alone. _When I find my mate, then we can celebrate even more._

 _We should,_ I agree, walking to him and wrapping my arms around his powerful neck. _I love you, Brand._

 _And I you, little one._ His eyes gleam with joy. _Now go and eat your breakfast._

I eat my meal alone as no one I know seems to have deigned to accompany me today. I'm sure that everyone is planning something that they will spring as a surprise. I find Tear, Lysara, and Serylda waiting for me in my room, bright smiles on their fair elven faces.

"Jotnar mentioned that a bride must have three attendants," Serylda explains, pulling me into the bath room, where a tub is already filled with warm water. "Sevanna-elda wanted to join, but alas she is busy plotting – er – making some final arrangements with your betrothed's other sisters."

"Now, dear, we can't have you smelling grimy when you are wed," Tear explains, running her smooth fingers through my unruly hair. "We want him to see you like he never did before."

They help me out of my clothes, and they ease me into the warm water. Lysara points at the scar on my chest, which I requested not to be removed with magic. "What happened to that?" she asks quietly. "Did you not have someone erase the blemish?"

"They offered, but I declined," I explain. "I was blinded by reckless rage and sought out my mother's murderer. "Had Father and Tryndemiel not arrived when they did, I would have paid for my idiocy with my life."

Serylda nods sagely. "We have heard of what happened so many times before. I know Father loves our mother, but he never forgot yours."

I know that, deep in my heart, but hearing it said out loud just leaves a quiet and dull ache in my heart, right where the knife pierced it years ago. I stay quiet as they scrub my skin to rosy cleanliness and apply a rose-scented blue concoction to my hair.

"The human Riders explain that it would add vibrance and shine," Tear explains, an odd fondness creeping up her voice.

They eventually deem me worthy and I am garbed in a snow-white robe. They direct me to sit on my bed and Serylda quietly dries my hair with magic. Lysara riffles through my hair ribbons, which are pitifully few. "I don't think any of these would be suitable," she says, setting them all down carefully. "Oh, it would be lovely to braid your hair in flowers."

Tear smiles. "She already has flowers to put on her hair." She brushes the knots in my hair loose and locates the wreath of glass roses that Tryndemiel has gifted me. "See?"

Lysara's eyes gleam. "That is perfect!"

We eat our midday meal, which takes about an hour, then we return to my room. Lysara cleans my nails while Serylda works some magic to emphasize the soft waves of my hair. Tear lays out my dress and all the other gifts that I was grace with in the past days.

They help me into the dress, which fit perfectly.

 _The little starseeker actually hid some of your clothes that were bound for laundry and took them to a seamstress about five winters ago,_ Brand explains. _All of this has been planned for a long, long time._

 _And so I have noticed,_ I reply, feeling tears brimming my eyes.

Next come the shoes, then the necklace, and lastly the wreath of glass roses. I press Tryndemiel's gift to Serylda's hands so she may hand it to Freynera, who shall speak for me in the ceremony.

No one comments as we walk through the tower. It seems like everyone is aware of the wedding. Sometimes being the daughter of an esteemed Elder does help, I suppose. My three attendants brim with excitement. Brand shadows us, drawing stares away from me with his mighty presence. We walk to the outskirts of the mighty city and to a small garden owned by the Elders.

The archways over the garden paths now have pennants streaming in vivid blue, violet, and silver. Some friends and acquaintances from Doru Araeba line the path, and I even see some of Tryndemiel's human relatives from Kuasta and a copper-haired woman I recognize as a distant relative from Carvahall who I visit once a year. Her name is Isolda. Dragons stand behind the line of people, adding a shower of iridiscent colors set ablaze by the light of the fiery sunset.

A lone song wafts from the crowd, and I realize that it is from the Dagshelgr Invocation – a song of longing, love, and growth. A lute plays somewhere and I have a feeling that it is Fayille's doing. I see Tryndemiel at the other side of the wide path, eyes aglow, clad in the same colors as I. He wears the cloak he once left me with though, when he departed for Ellesmera shortly after my mother's death. He exchanges glances with me and I can see the gleam of true happiness in his eyes even from our distance. Behind him stands Fayille, ready to speak for my betrothed.

I sense a presence behind me as Freynera takes her place. "I heard it is customary for a mother to walk her daughter to a wedding – and I will never be Sigrid. But I hope you would still let me be a mother to you whenever you need one, Ash."

I fight the urge to weep – for love, for loss, and for excitement. "Thank you, Freynera-elda."

We begin to march to the end of the path, where Elder Galad awaits. He has most graciously agreed to officiate the wedding as it became one of his most frequent jobs for human Riders since he became the lone Elder to represent his race.

"Welcome, my friends," he says as we stop before him. "Today we stand here to bear witness to the union of love between Tryndemiel, son of Ardal, and Ash, daughter of Sigrid. They have both been known to be enamored with each other for years and years and it is known that no one else has a claim upon their hands. If we are mistaken or if you believe that they must not be wed, then make your objections known before these witnesses, so we may judge the merit of such an argument."

Silence fills the beautiful garden.

Galad smiles. "Who shall speak for Tryndemiel?"

"I will, my lord," Fayille says, stepping forward. "Tryndemiel has neither father nor uncle, so I, Tryndemiel of House Rilvenar, shall speak for him as my blood."

"And who shall speak for Ash, daughter of Sigrid?"

"I will." Freynera steps forward and squeezes my hand for encouragement. "Ash has neither mother nor aunt, so I,Freynera of House Haldthin, shall speak for my stepdaughter as my blood."

Galad nods, probably pleased that the two elves remembered what he taught them before the ceremony. "As is right and proper. What does Tryndemiel, son of Ardal, bring to this marriage so he and his wife may prosper?"

"He brings his name and his sword. He brings his strength and his knowledge." Fayille took a deep breath. "He brings all his possessions, all his skills. He brings his love which will outlast empires."

Silence falls throughout the garden once more as everyone digests those words.

Galad turns to Freynera. "And do you accept his terms, Freynera of House Haldthin?" As she vocies her consent, he continues. "And what does Ash, daughter of Sigrid, bring so that her husband and she may prosper?"

"She brings her strength and her blade. She brings her knowledge and her skills. As a Rider, she has no dowry but she brings a gift." Freynera smiles and hands Tryndemiel the book. I feel myself grinning at the bright expression on his face. "It is nothing compared to what he has given her, but let it be a symbol of her love, which will outlast empires."

"And do you, Tryndemiel, son of Ardal, accept the terms that Fayille of House Svarthall has negotiated upon your behalf?"

"I do. It was more than I expected," he says quietly. "Ash as she is… it's enough for me."

"Ash, daughter of Sigrid, are you pleased with the terms that Freynera of House Haldthin has negotiated on your behalf?"

"I do. So long as it is Tryndemiel, I will be," I reply.

Tryndemiel bows his head. He unlatches his cloak as it streams behind him like a banner as a smile touches his lips. "I, Tryndemiel, son of Ardal, swear by my name and by my lineage that I shall protect and provide for Ash, daughter of Sigrid, for as long as we live. I will uphold her honor, remain steadfast and faithful, and treat her with the proper respect, dignity, and gentleness. I will be her knight and her scholar, and fight wars in her name should the need arise. She is my Lady of the Roses, and it would please me beyond measure to have her as my shieldmate now and forever."

That is my cue to speak the words taught to me just three days before. I bow my head with a smile. "I, Ash, daughter of Sigrid, swear by my name and my lineage that I shall serve and provide for Tryndemiel, son of Ardal, for as long as we live. I will uphold his honor and remain steadfast and faithful to him in the years to come. I will bear his children while I may, and be a caring mother for them. I will fight wars in his name should the need arise. He is my Wolfhound Knight, and I would be honored to become shieldmate now and forever."

Galad takes the amber cloak and wraps us together in it. "As is my right as an Elder Dragon Rider, I now declare you man and wife!"

A cheer ripples in the crowd as Tryndemiel kisses me. His eyes seem to sparkle even in the fire of the dwindling sunlight. As we finish, the most ridiculous grin spreads across his face. "Oh, you haven't seen the feast we've prepared yet."

* * *

 _ **The night sky once ruled my imagination.  
**_ ** _Now I turn the dials with careful calculation.  
_** ** _After a while, I thought I'd never find you.  
_** ** _I convinced myself that I would never find you,  
_** ** _When suddenly I saw you._**

 ** _At first I thought you were a constellation._**  
 ** _I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation:_**  
 ** _You're as beautiful as endless,_**  
 ** _You're the universe I'm helpless in._**  
 ** _An astronomer at my best_**  
 ** _When I throw away the measurements._**

 ** _Like a telescope,_**  
 ** _I will pull you so close_**  
 ** _'til no space lies in between._**

 ** _And suddenly I see you._**  
 ** _Suddenly I see you._**

 ** _I was a billion little pieces_**  
 ** _'til you pulled me into focus._**  
 ** _Astronomy in reverse,_**  
 ** _It was me who was discovered._**

 ** _(I thought I'd never find you,_**  
 ** _When suddenly I saw you.)_**

 ** _Like a telescope,_**  
 ** _I will pull you so close,_**  
 ** _'til no space lies in between._**

 ** _Then suddenly I see you._**

* * *

 **With the mindset I'm in as I wrote this chapter, it's no surprise that it ended up ridiculously cheesy, though I lifted most of the ceremony from Brisingr and just added a few things here and there.**

 **Wedding feast next chapter, then a teeny tiny timeskip. We'll be saving big timeskips for big events, since we've only got fifty years to cover until the fall.**

 **Again, if anyone is interested you can check the AtA playlist I've pulled up. The link's on my profile. It's basically stuff that inspired this story, told in the order from their meeting to the parting. xD**

 **Jotnar, Tear, and company will be up to some shenanigans next chapter. Mwahahaha!**

 **Aren't they all ridiculously adorable?**


	23. Beneath the Vast Stars

**Disclaimer: Same old, same old.**

* * *

 **Chapter 23: Beneath the Vast Stars**

Still bound together tightly by his amber cloak, Tryndemiel wraps an arm clumsily around my waist. Walking is a challenge and I sincerely hope that his clumsiness does not manifest tonight. It would be beyond maddening. I am enthralled by his warmth though – and the brilliantly beautiful fire in his eyes that I have never seen before today. We walk through the garden and to its other side, where food is already laid out on long tables. Flameless lanterns set the place aglow with their jewel-bright shine.

 _You still amaze me,_ I finally say. _You were able to prepare all of this behind my back?_

He smiles. _Do not underestimate someone,_ he says gently before nuzzling my cheek softly. _I had my ways._

The book I gave him awaits us on our table, which is set up higher than the rest – like we are a king and queen looking down upon their subjects. Those closest to us begin to line up, gifts held close to them. First to approach are Oromis and Glaedr. The golden dragon touches us with his snout, brilliant scales glimmering even in the semidarkness.

 _Wind guide you, little ones,_ he says softly. _Watch the skies before the storm. Follow the unbroken road around the fire and beneath the ice. Always remember – sky above, voice within._

Oromis regards me with pride – something I have not seen for years. He smiles in his infuriatingly serene way as he watches us untangle ourselves from the honey-hued cloak, preserved throughout the years by little more than magic. My father holds out his hand, where two simple gold rings lie. Both hum with power and elven glyphs are inscribed upon them.

"So long as these rings touch your skin then you will find each other – no matter the distance," he says gravely. "I have also enchanted them to alert you if the other is in peril so you may fulfill your oaths and protect each other at all costs." He turns to Tryndemiel, eyes unusually sharp. "Do not forget your oaths, boy."

"Never, Lord Oromis. So long as it in my power I will never let any harm come to your daughter. I will love her 'till my last breath." I am impressed by the way my new – my new husband says those words. He now stares back at my father ever so unflinchingly. He is not that boy anymore – that boy who was so intimidated by the mere presence of Elder Oromis.

"As you should." Oromis withdraws as we take our new rings.

"Ah, this is my third ring," I say with amusement. I slip it on the same finger that holds my betrothal ring, two priceless pieces of jewelry glinting on my hand.

Tryndemiel chuckles. "You might become the Lady of the Rings," he jokes, brushing my hand with his.

Jotnar and Tear approach us hand in hand. I feel my eyebrows raise as I see them. They stop before us, faces aglow with something awfully familiar but I cannot point out. They stare at each other and let go before turning to us with playful smiles upon their faces.

"We have been thinking of what gifts to bring you since Tryndemiel here sent word of his plans," Tear begins with a chuckle. "That was last summer, I believe."

"You have been planning for this for a long, long time," I note.

"All of us were in it and you were none the wiser," my brother says with a mischievous glint in his bright emerald eyes. "I truly am happy for you. Ever since I met your lover in Nadindel I did wonder why you did not see him the way he did at that time."

I remember the empty feeling in my chest when he left – the old ache that throbbed anew whenever I thought of him during his absence and the burning giddiness when my knight revealed himself. "I think I already did," I point out.

Tryndemiel turns red as I say so and holds me closer. "We have been dancing around each other for years and years."

Jotnar beams. "Oh, yes, I could see that now." He hands us matching silver cloaks embroidered with a gray wolfhound in the middle and bordered with roses. "We had these made specially for the two of you."

My eyes tear up once more as we accept them. "They are very beautiful," I whisper.

They withdraw and Fayille takes their place. His gray-blue eyes take in the sight of us with a crinkly smile. "It was fun thinking of a gift," he admits with a soft chuckle. "I have never attended a wedding of any sort before."

He laid a book on the table. "I have gathered all the songs and poems that I have gathered throughout the year – both human and elven. I think there are some dwarven songs too, but I cannot be too sure."

"You do not know how much this means to us," Tryndemiel murmurs with a smile.

Next are Lysara and Serylda, standing side by side, immovable and unchanging as befits them as elves. "Sister, good-brother," Serylda says, greeting us with two fingers on her lips. "Truly, some human rituals and traditions are highly interesting. I cannot fault you for choosing a wedding instead of merely acknowledging each other as mates – especially after we have witnessed these past few days."

"It was most enlightening too," Lysara agrees. "I understand why humans have chosen such methods to tie themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. 'Tis sad that they do not live as long as we do. We have much to learn from them." She pauses as she regards us with her canted eyes. She gives both of us a pair of leather and bronze brazers, embelished with silver roses around a golden wolfhound.

Sevanna and Eoran take their place. They have identical mischievous smiles upon their faces.

"Oh, I don't like that smile," Tryndemiel comments, though he begins mirroring them.

Sevanna raises a perfect eyebrow. "Why?" A languid smile brightens up her elegant features. "We have thought long and hard about this."

"Sevanna, I did the thinking. You just kept bombarding me with your comments." Eoran smiles and wraps an arm around her waist. My heart soars as I see them truly and steadily grow closer. He presents pair of small daggers sheathed in plain leather to us. He pulls one out, revealing a pearly blade that had elven runes engraved upon them. Iridescent opals the size of a small bird's eggs adorn the pommels. "Sometimes your swords will fail you. We actually purchased them and engraved the runes. Oh, and we did the enchantments personally."

Sevanna smiles. "They will never dull, break, nor rust – just like our swords. If you unsheathe one of them and say your partner's name, you will let them know that you are in danger – or at least need them immediately." She pats our cheeks with a fond smile. "Since I saw the two of you talking to each other for the first time, I had an odd feeling that you would eventually wind up somewhere like this. I did not want to think of it so much in the midst of my youthful jealousy but… I truly am so happy for both of you."

"We will be expecting you to wed soon too," I tell her with a grin.

Eoran turns red at that statement. "Ah, I think it is almost time."

Food and drink flows freely as the night wears on. Fayille graces us with bawdy songs and for a few hours, everything feels just as it was in the old days. It is well past midnight when the festivities end, and I am wrapped around the honey cloak once more and currently in my husband's arms. Our family and friends assure us that they will be bringing our gifts to our quarters tomorrow and they wave at us as we head off to enjoy our wedding night.

* * *

I awaken to the golden threads of the early morning sun that greet the new day. I am tangled in blankets, the maidencloak, and Tryndemiel's warm, bare limbs. He is still asleep and I content myself with listening to his soft breathing.

Brand is nearby with the other dragons, preparing for a day of hunting. He notices me awake and sends a flicker of amusement my way. _I thought you would be sleeping longer, partner of my mind and heart._

 _I thought so too. But I feel no tiredness,_ I muse. In fact, I feel as if I have slept for days.

Brand chuckles in my head. _Oh, Ash. You are still love-mad after all this time?_

 _Always._ I smile and shift slightly, careful not to jostle the sleeping Tryndemiel.

He lets out a soft breath and opens his eyes. He takes in the sight of me as if seeing me for the first time. I love the way his eyes twinkle when he smiles. "Good morning," he whispers.

"Good morning," I greet him. I could feel myself reflecting his wide smile. "I feel odd – odd but definitely amazing."

He kisses my forehead. "Aye, that much I can also say."

It is a busy day as our family and friends finally take their leave to return to their normal lives. Seeing everyone together leaves a quietly nostalgic ache in my heart. Even without a dragon's bond, Tryndemiel seems to notice it and gives my hand a squeeze.

We could not tarry for much longer though, as a servant arrives to bring us a missive from Vrael – the great leader of our order seeks my presence.

"This has never happened to me before," I tell Tryndemiel as we return to the marble halls of the tower. "None of the Elders ever had any personal need of me – aside from Father, that is."

He shrugs – though I can see and sense his anxiety. "There must be a first time for everything, then. Do not worry. I will wait for you nearby."

I fight off anxiety and we walk together up the flight of stairs leading to Vrael's study. Tryndemiel stops before the Riders guarding the double oak doors, leaving me alone to traverse the last few steps. Vrael and Umaroth are right inside, just as expected. The First Elder is apparently immersed in a book and takes his time to mark the page he would be leaving. When he finally turns his eyes upon me, I could feel my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest.

"There is no need to be afraid, child," he says. "Sit."

I do as I am told – my knees shaking all the while – and try to compose myself. "You summoned me here, First Elder?"

He nods. "I know that you have been spending your last few days preparing and holding your wedding – and I hope that you are still aware of the most recent events in the Tower despite this."

I blink. "I tried, Vrael-elda, but the only word that reached my ears is that of Master Lorekeeper Melran's passing."

Vrael sighs. It takes him a while to compose himself once more. "Yes – that is the heaviest news that has hit our Tower in the past fortnight. I have heard of your exploits since you have joined our ranks, Ash the Courageous. I know 'tis not as intriguing as those of your peers- but I am nevertheless impressed. You truly are your father's daughter."

"I am honored by your words," I say slowly. Is he implying what I think he is?

"I want you to take Melran's place as Master Lorekeeper."

It is truly fortunate that I am sitting down or else my knees would have gone weak. "Surely there are those that have more experience than I? N-not that I am doubting your judgement, First Elder, I mean no offense."

"And there is none taken." Vrael smiles. "We will need someone like you, Ash. A storm is coming and I feel that you will be right in its eye."

"I do not know how to feel about that, but if it is what you wish then I shall oblige. I am honored to be raised as Master Lorekeeper." I finally bow my head. "I will do my best not to disappoint you."

Vrael smiles. "You won't. Now, I am sure your husband shall be interested in this new development. The three of us must talk tonight to finalize your promotion, Master Lorekeeper Ash."

* * *

 **A short chapter, but I wanted to end it in a cliffhanger. Heh.**

 **As for what the Master Lorekeeper does and what it has to do with AtA's ending... we'll leave that to next chapter.**

 **I'll be putting off the timeskeep until mid-chapter 24 just because. We'll be seeing Kifain and two more Forsworn there. Who do you think are they? And no Morzan. XD**

 **As for Ash and Tryndemiel's twins from Bloodwar? We wont' be seeing them for a long time.**

 **Can't believe that I totally missed the Blood Cycle's third birthday! It's really funny, amazing, and heartwarming to see a simple exercise against self-harm turn into something much, much bigger. It feels like it's my coming of age as much as the heroes'. Thank you so much for sticking with me until now, you guys. You don't know how much every one of you mean to this little fanfic writer right now. Virtual hugs and kisses!**

 **Ah, I'm off! Will be meeting real life Tryndemiel in a bit. Read and review as always! I love you guys!**


	24. The Song of the Falling Stars

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately I do own nothing, and you know nothing Jon Snow.**

* * *

 **Chapter 24: The Song of the Falling Stars**

I return to the spot where I last left Tryndemiel but he is oddly missing. In his place is Jotnar, who's supposed to be on his way back to Ellesmera. He gives me a wide, cheeky smile. "Hello there, dear sister. I'm afraid I forgot something here and had to double back."

"Where's Tryndemiel?" I ask him bluntly.

"Good to see you too!" He grins and looks a little guilty. "I did not expect you to be meeting First Elder Vrael so soon after your wedding."

I frown. "Where is my husband?"

"In your room. I think Tear wanted to talk to him privately."

I let out a shuddering sigh. I've got a feeling that Jotnar and Tear are acting a little odd. "So what does this have to do with me?"

Jotnar shrugs and smiles. He begins to walk, beckoning me to follow. We walk through the hallways in silence. I try to contact Brand and see what he knows, but he is unusually silent too. I only feel faint traces of amusement from him. _Thank you for being such a supportive dragon,_ I groan.

 _You are always welcome,_ he replies.

I roll my eyes, earning some stares from passing servants. _The sarcasm is easily lost on you,_ I note.

We reach the end of the hallway and begin to descend to the Riders' quarters. The door to our room is oddly ajar, and glance at Jotnar in discomfort. Something doesn't add up. "What exactly are you up to?"

He just shrugs and gives me a good-natured smile. I open the door and find Tryndemiel waiting for me – well, waiting does not sound like a fitting term. He is tied to a chair, his cheeks burning a brilliant shade of red. Beside him is Tear, a smug grin on her face. She turns to us with shining eyes. "Ah, you've finally arrived. I was afraid that my dear brother would run off if he heard about our second gift – and our announcement."

I scowl. "What is this about?" I growl. "You are both supposed to be on your way to Du Weldenvarden."

Jotnar chuckles. "Like I said, we forgot something and had to double back. We had two sets of gifts to give you, and we are going to present the second one right now – or after our very important announcement, that is."

"Very important that you had to tie me down?" Tryndemiel whines. "Don't think that I will let you get away with this."

Tear snickers and sits on our bed cross-legged. "Oh, I hope I didn't sit on anything disgusting," she mutters good-naturedly.

Tryndemiel sighs. "We cleaned up."

"So why are the two of you here?" I say again.

Tear's eyes gleams as she leans forward eagerly. "We have an announcement and a gift. How many times must I repeat that?" She pauses, making sure that she has our undivided attention. I would expect something like that from Jotnar, but not from her. "I am with child."

Tryndemiel's eyes widen, his mouth bobbing open. "What? Wait, what? Who's the father?"

Jotnar crosses his arms and leans against the wall. "I am."

We all fall into stunned silence. My brother and Tear? Really? I stare at them, feeling every bit as disbelieving as Tryndemiel probably is. "Please tell me that you are not jesting."

Tryndemiel coughs, apparently having choked on his own spit.

"We are not." Tear smiles. "We have been mates for a full year before I found out that I am… pregnant."

I blink and stare at the two of them. "So – so…"

Jotnar smiles cheekily. "I'm going to be a father," he says with wonder. "We have tried and tried for the past year, but we learned in Osilon that conceiving a child is difficult if one of us is a half-elf."

I exchange glances with Tryndemiel. "Then that means it would be much more difficult for us, I suppose."

I could see the same worry in his eyes. "I did not know that until today."

Tear nods. "And we didn't either – not until we visited some members of House Rilvenar stationed in Osilon." She rests a hand on her belly, as if trying to sense the babe that is developing within. "We were eager to have children though, so we sought out one of the most reclusive elves in Du Weldenvarden – the only other elf who has seen as much of the world as Rhunon-elda."

I tried to sift through years of traveling and studying, and yet Rhunon of the Dragon Forges is the only I know who has reached such a great age. As far as I can remember from my brief meeting with her, she mntioned that she was already an established blacksmith by the time the Dragon War broke out. "I never heard of this other elf," I note.

Jotnar's eyes darken. "You must be aware that not all elves approve of witchcraft and sorcery – but she is someone who excels on both fields. Askarna lives not in a city, but in her own secluded dwelling place."

Now I remember Oromis mentioning an old elven hermit who lives away from the rest of her people. "And did she let you seek her company, then?"

"We were desperate, and I was sure that she had what we sought." My brother taps his cheek thoughtfully. "You know that witchcraft revolves around herbs and potions – and we were given a small vial each to drink so we could finally have an easier time in conceiving a child."

Tear grins. "We did as she said and… here we are."

It seems like the witch spoke true if Tear is pregnant. Tryndemiel lets out a shaky breath. "I suppose congratulations are in place, then."

Jotnar chuckles. "And that brings us to our second gift." He holds out two small vials of a thick, bloodred liquid. "We managed to convince her to make one more batch of potions for the two of you. Her services did not come cheap, mind you, but we thought that you would need some help in conceiving a child more than we do in the coming days."

He's right, and I know it. I thank them for the gifts and add, "We may put them into good use soon, but… I don't think now is the right time," I muse, exchanging uncomfortable glances with Tryndemiel. I could sense the storm in his thoughts. "They are greatly appreciated, though."

Tear's soft laugh fills our room like music. "We knew you would say that. Good to hear that you shall keep them. Who knows? You truly might need some help in starting your little family."

Tryndemiel smiles. "Should we decide to use them, we will inform the two of you immediately."

* * *

Tryndemiel and I eventually bid our siblings goodbye – probably for real this time – and head to our midday meal together. He smiles at me as he takes my hand. "So why did Lord Vrael seek you out?" he finally asks.

I feel myself turn red as I remember the unwarranted honor that the First Elder bestowed upon me. "He wants me to become the new Master Lorekeeper," I say with a small grin.

The Master Lorekeeper is one of the eight high-ranking positions working directly under the Elders – a rank equal to the Master Archivist. The Master Lorekeeper and the lesser wisdoms are responsible for making sure that all the feats of the Riders – important achievements, events in their lives, and the likes – are recorded properly in our Hall of Memory. Only the Master Lorekeeper and those working as wisdoms are given full access to these records – especially the darkest annals of our order. Unlike the Master Archivist's scholars which includes civilians, the wisdoms are comprised only of Riders handpicked by either the Master Lorekeeper or the Elders themselves – and must be approved by all nine of them.

"It is a great honor," Tryndemiel notes with a smile. "I suppose you will be introduced to your Seeker tonight."

The Seeker is the only civilian working for the Hall of Records, as a receptacle of sorts for the news involving Riders throughout Alagaesia. He or she is there to provide civilian opinions to the feats that would be recorded by the wisdoms.

"I suppose," I say slowly. I do hope that this Seeker would be someone I can trust.

Tryndemiel squeezes my hand. "If your new job gives you any trouble, I will personally appeal to Lord Vrael for assistance – though I hope it would not be necessary."

Nightfall arrives, and Lord Vrael himself arrives to fetch us, a small wooden chest in his hands. Tryndemiel wraps my freshly washed maidencloak around me to stave off the lingering chill that winter left behind its path as we begin to head to the Hall of Memory – which is the only portion of the tower that is situated underground. Brand pads quietly behind us, looking every bit like a hatchling beside the sheer girth of a full-grown dragon like Umaroth-elda. Our the path to the lower level of the Tower is quiet, as very few Riders would have any cause to linger in the area.

We reach the pair of ornate metal doors adorned with orbs of sapphires and swirling gilded filligree. A pair of Riders and their dragons stand guard and bow before us. I feel myself turn red – while Vrael is evidently used to such attention. He merely nods to them as we patiently wait for the doors to swing open.

The Hall of Records smells like paper – and it immediately reminds me of the library itself. It is a little smaller and cozier though – just like Tryndemiel's old study. The small number of wisdoms in the room feels jarring compared to the sheer number of scholars working under the Master Archivist and the warriors under the Master Bladesinger. Now I'm not wondering why the wisdoms compete against the Master Diplomat's ambassadors as the smallest Rider group.

The wisdoms all stop their work as we approach and bow to us. I feel goosebumps rising across my arms and it has nothing to do with the chilly weather. We walk on, feigning ignorance to their stares. I am not ignorant though. I most definitely am not. We reach the other side of the room and stand before an massive door made of the finest oak. Lord Vrael produces a key from his pocket and unlocks it.

"This shall be your office from now on," he explains with a smile.

Inside the circular room, shelves upon shelves of books surround the slightly elevated dais that holds my desk. I could see a hidden door that blends well with the eastern portion of the wall. Vrael follows my gaze and nods. "You shall understand what that is in a short while."

He sets down the wooden chest on the desk and urges us to peer at it. It's an unassuming object, just a square block of wood with rusted latches and hinges. He asks us to listen carefully as he murmurs a short song in the ancient language about the passage of the stars in the night sky and the stories that they bear witness to throughout the years. The chest unlatches as he finishes the song for the first time – but he repeats it thrice more so we can remember it.

"The Seeker is always a civilian who is closest to the Master Lorekeeper's heart. Siblings, friends, and lovers have taken this post throughout the years. I have considered appointing Jotnar as your Seeker, but he would not be able to fulfill the job that this post requires. After all, he is the Lord of House Thranduin and a Painted One." Vrael smiles – which is a rarer event that Oromis smiling. "Besides, I have observed both of you throughout the years and I think young Tryndemiel deserves the post more."

"It would be an honor," Tryndemiel murmurs with a quick bow. I could see his cheeks burning red from the sudden compliment. "I would love nothing more than to serve the Riders and to serve my wife as much as it would be allowed."

Vrael nods. "And I expect nothing less than that."

"We will not fail you, Vrael-elda," I promise him.

Vrael's eyes flicker to the hidden passage that I noted earlier. "Now, I am sure you are aware of the tasks of the Master Lorekeeper that we have publicized." He waits for us to confirm this before carrying on. "Now, what the general public does not know – alas, not even anyone aside from the Master Lorekeeper, the Seeker, and the Elders know – is that there is much more to your task. Now, beyond that entrance is a door that leads further underground. Beyond those are the rumored archives that detail all the lores stored outside your office – and information on the history of our order that can only be disclosed to your Seeker and the Elders."

He pauses, probably waiting for us to object, and nods in approval when none is forthcoming. "Beyond those walls lie the swords of our fallen comrades whose families did not bring home their swords or had them kept in their owners' graves. Also within are the most ancient and powerful artifacts of our Riders that are also deeply intertwined with our history."

"And they are all concealed underneath the tower?" I ask in wonder. "They must be well-protected, then?"

"So well-protected, only the Lorekeeper and Seeker can gain access to it. Anyone else who tries to reach the lowest level of the tower will be turned away by the collective spells of fortifications that we Elders and former Lorekeepers and Seekers have built up throughout the years."

Tryndemiel frowns. "I suppose you can teach us the spells of fortifications, Vrael-elda, but…"

I finish his sentence. "If only the Lorekeeper and the Seeker have access to the lower levels, then how will we learn how to?"

Vrael smiles yet again and opens the chest on the table, revealing a brown Eldunari –a dragon's heart of hearts, containing its deceased owner's soul, the dragon's very essence. "This is Behlaren."

 _I was the dragon of the first Lorekeeper, Adalia._ The vast reaches of the ancient dragon's mind resonates within us, and I could feel Brand flinch mentally from surprise. _Open your minds, and I shall teach you the way to the halls 'neath us. I shall teach you the two halves of the Song of the Falling Stars._

We relax our minds, opening it to the long-deceased dragon. A lonely, wistful melody fills my thoughts, filling me with an odd longing for something I could not quite describe. Tears well up in my eyes as he teaches me half the words to the song – and fills my mind with something I could only describe as the innate magic of a dragon. The air around us fills with the anticipatory breath of the entire world waiting for the changes that only dragons can work upon their surroundings.

 _You will hear the other half of the song time and time again, but you will never learn it – not as long as the magic within me runs through your blood, through your thoughts. Forgive us, Master Lorekeeper, but we must make sure that the secrets the Song conceals will not fall into the wrong hands._

The song ends and repeats thrice more, imprinting itself in my mind with the help of the dragon's magic. As Behlaren's thoughts withdraw back to his Eldunari, energy rushes out of my body as if I wrought great magic myself – and everything goes black.

* * *

 **Do take note of the second half of this chapter, as it's going to be very important in the endgame not only for AtA but for Bloodwar.**

 **I suppose Behlaren came out of nowhere, but I am also dropping a few hints here about Ash and Tryndemiel's fates at the end of the story so I want you guys to pay attention. Heehee. Hey, Jotnar and Tear as mates came out of nowhere too, didn't it? Though now we may know why Ash and Tryndemiel managed to pop out twins... or do you guys think they have more kids running around? Mwahahaha!**

 **The errors pointed out in Bloodwar have been duly noted and I will fix them as soon as possible.**

 **Yes! Someone got my Skyrim reference in chapter 23! I rearranged it a bit but yes, it came from the Graybeards and some titles from the soundtrack. Heehee.**

 **We'll be having a timeskip shortly into chapter 25 and meet around 3 of the future Forsworn (including Kifain. Missed him?)**

 **The little groups the Riders have such as the wisdoms, warriors, scholars, etc are all inspired by the Aes Sedai and their different Ajahs from The Wheel of Time.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	25. A Herald of Looming Chaos

**Disclaimer: You know the drill, baes.**

* * *

 **Chapter 25: A Herald of Looming Chaos**

When I finally come to, I am lying spread-eagled on the floor. Tryndemiel is slumped on top of me, dazed eyes staring at my face with confusion. We extricate ourselves from each other and stand up – highly aware that Lord Vrael is watching us with veiled amusement. I dust my coat and try to look dignified, noting that he already closed the box containing Behlaren's Eldunari and he is now in the process of returning it to its hiding place.

"That was… a very interesting experience," Tryndemiel notes, raising his eyebrows.

I snort. "Interesting? Hah."

A ghost of a smile passes across Lord Vrael's fair features. "Now, I am sure that your wisdoms are eager to meet you. Sarminos will be waiting for you outside to introduce and orient you to your new responsibilities."

Sarminos turns out to be a male human, diminuitive and unimposing if it weren't for the fact that he looks every bit like a half-elf like us already. He is dressed in the blue and gold of the wisdoms, his long brown hair kept away from his gray eyes with a simple strip of deep blue cloth. "First Elder, Master Lorekeeper, Seeker," he says in greeting as we head out of the Hall of Records and into the Hall of Memory. "I am Sarminos, Rider of Beran, eldest among the wisdoms currently in attendance."

"Well met, Wisdom Sarminos. I am Ash, Rider of Brand, and this is my husband and Seeker, Tryndemiel." I find it hard to read this soft-spoken man, though I suppose he is trustworthy enough to be given such an important task by Lord Vrael.

Once the First Elder excuses himself, Sarminos shows us the different books containing records of the lifes and times of Riders both old and new – and even shows me my own tome. The book – bound in leather dyed a deep blue – is barely filled yet, though it does mention part of my studies and my apparent achievements in battle. There is also a small note of my wedding to Tryndemiel – which would apparently be completed at a later time, once detail of the occasion have been finalized by the wisdoms.

"We would be honored to hear the story from your own lips soon, Ash-elda," Sarminos says with a wry smile.

I exchange glances with Tryndemiel. He merely inclines his head, letting me make the decision. I turn back to the wisdom. "We shall see if the circumstances permit."

That seems enough for our guide. He shows us the door to a sealed room where news and new records will be sent to me from all over Alagaesia, informing me that I will be receiving a ring from Lord Vrael which will grant me – and only me – access to that part of the Halls. Lastly we are introduced to the handful of other wisdoms in attendance – thirty in all – and try our best to remember their names. I make a mental note of the fact that most of them are humans.

We promise to return early after breakfast tomorrow as there will be an appointment with a seamstress who will be measuring us for our robes. By the time we retire to our room, I am barely able to stand on my own feet.

We only manage to digest the day's events by the time we are safe in each other's arms, beneath the warm blankets of our bed.

"I never knew that half-elves have some trouble with conceiveing," he muses, his breath warm against my hair. "I merely thought that we did not have any children because we were being… careful."

"I assumed as much too," I admit sadly, tightening my hold on him. "I'm afraid of using the concoction our siblings have provided us with, but I'm afraid that it might truly be the only way for us to start a family." I sigh, breathing in his minty scent. "Then again, there are so few of our kind that I would consider having such knowledge of our – our fertility issues – a miracle."

"You are the first half-elven Rider, Ash. Do you think it would make a difference?" The longing in his voice is so real, so thick, that it is almost tangible. It hurts me too. It does.

 _I'm afraid not,_ I tell him, closing my eyes. _I'm sorry._

 _Don't be,_ he responds in kind. _Don't you ever think that any of this is your fault._

* * *

Life as Master Lorekeeper slowly becomes routine to me. I review news from wisdoms throughout the land, sort those which would be revealed to the rest of the Hall and those that will be sent to the Vaults. Tryndemiel assists me with news that he receives from the Tower's civilian eyes-and-ears.

We receive word from Jotnar of Tear giving birth to a son in mid-fall, whom they have named Caillen. My new tasks, unfortunately, means that we will have to postpone our visit to Du Weldenvarden – unless the Lord and Lady of House Thranduin deign to pay us a visit.

Five springs pass and still we are childless. I know of Tryndemiel's frustration – I feel it in my heart day by day too – but we still have an unspoken consent of not turning to the potion until we are truly desperate.

I indulge myself during my free time by delving further into my mother's history, trying to get to know her better as a way of trying to feel close to her even from beyond her grave. I am a little upset that only a few words have been hastily scribbled about her murder, but then again many secrets are hidden even to the Hall of Memory. Late that night, Tryndemiel and I return to my office – the Hall of Records – and access the Vault.

We are not disappointed. I learn more about the investigations regarding his death – and the reason why an Elder was dismissed from his position shortly after that event. It seems like we were not only involved in a two-way rebellion – we were also involved in a plot to quietly have some high-ranking Riders killed – including Barthfer and my father himself. It seems like it was bungled terribly, though I am painfully aware that Barthfer would still be alive had it not been for my lack of experience during that time.

Immense sorrow and regret fills me, and I could only sit and stare at the tome that contains details of the investigations surrounding that fiasco. I was technically unconscious and recuperating during its timeframe, and no one thought I was important enough to be well-informed. I am learning all of this only now.

Tryndemiel stands beside me, his presence warm and comforting. He is breathing heavily – an attempt to suppress dark emotions from overwhelming him – and he takes my hand a little too roughly. "We had no idea of this either," he murmurs in a ragged voice. "The scholars all talked and talked and talked – unfortunately we had no proof that any of our speculations ever held true."

My dreams this night are filled of nightmares – nightmares of that day that I first experienced true battle.

I awaken to a stormy morning. Everything that we do is punctuated by thunder and lightning while the torrential dowpour preventing smaller dragons from flying off to hunt. I am once again wearing Tryndemiel's cloak over my blue and gold robes. I insist that he keeps it as I have my own and yet he refuses, saying that it fits me better. He contents himself with wearing the blue and gold cloak that matches his robes.

The atmosphere in the Tower is hushed. The world outside is awash with vivid colors brought about by the rain and yet the weather bringsa somber mood to everyone. I check the letters left on my desk first of all when I arrive in my office, glad that the damp smell outside has not yet seeped into my Hall of Records. Most of them are news that I shall have to sift through later, but one of them makes my blood run cold.

It did not have the seal that most letters from wisdoms have, but I am well-aware that the sender is among the newest to join their ranks. It only contained only five words – five words that brought shivers down my spine in the most unpleasant way. _I will see you soon._ I wouldn't mind if it came from someone close to me – but it is from Kifain, whom I have not seen since I finished my studies in Ilirea. Even then he was merely a sullen part of the periphery.

Tryndemiel peers at the letter over my shoulder. I could sense his rage and annoyance even though I merely keep a minimal connection between our minds. "What does he want from us now?" he asks quietly. "Do you want me to beat some sense into him?"

I press my lips together into a grim smile. "I would appreciate that, but no. He will kill you if he realizes that we are married."

His honey eyes darken as he looks away. _Sometimes I wish I were a Rider too,_ he muses.

"You could toothless and crippled and I would not care," I growl. "But I want you to be safe. I don't want him to do anything to you that we will all regret. Please."

He looks away – sadness and fear overwhelming his heart. "If he does anything to harm you, I will slit his throat."

"And I would expect nothing less from you," I tell him.

We hear a knock on the door. Tryndemiel shoots me a worried glance and opens it. Before us is one of the younger elf wisdoms, Formora. I think her mate is a warrior named Kialandi. She bows to me and smiles beatifically. "Master Lorekeeper, Wisdom Kifain has arrived from Belatona and seeks your audience."

Kifain strides into the room, his pale hair longer and now tied back by a simple red ribbon. His dark eyes stare at me hungrily as he shoves Formora aside and I supress the urge to shudder. I keep my back straight in an attempt to make sure that my appearance is dignified. I dismiss Formora, who shoots the newcomer a dirty look as she flounces out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Wisdom Kifain, I believe that there are urgent matters that we must attend to?" I ask, assuming the role of Master Lorekeeper. After five years of facing and leading people who are far older than me, he is no challenge at all. "I am Master Lorekeeper now. I know we are childhood acquaintances but if this is not something critical then perhaps we could discuss it once we have finished our tasks for the day – maybe somewhere outside this Hall of Memory. It would reflect poorly of me if I were to use it for personal matters such as this."

An ugly look crosses Kifain's face as his eyes flit between Tryndemiel and I. "Very well, Ash."

"That's Master Lorekeeper Ash to you, wisdom, so long as you are in these halls." Tryndemiel's voice is a low purr – far from his playfully boyish cadence – and it reminds me of the wolfhound he is repeatedly compared to. "Vallahin, would you like me to escort the wisdom out of this room?"

"That won't be necessary," I tell him, anxiety rising due to the way that the situation is quickly escalating. "Wisdom Kifain, we must observe propriety within the Hall of Records and the Hall of Memory. Remember that. Meet me at the Water Gardens outside of the city tonight after dinnertime. No one shall overhear anything we may have to say there."

Kifain bows low – I am sure he is mocking me – and tilts his head. "As you wish, Master Lorekeeper, Seeker." He turns his back on us, his lurid pink cloak swishing behind him as he leaves the room.

* * *

 **A short update. Sorry. October has been busier than expected and my schedule is a tight mess right now. I can't even go on a date with all the shit-ton of work and random appointments I'm facing! Urgh.**

 **No worries, we've legitimately met Ash and Tryn's twins in Bloodwar. Heehee. I'm sure they deserve an adorable reunion in the future.**

 **The memory loss post-Fall does have something to do with the events of last chapter. Partly.**

 **I hope Kifain's appearance doesn't disappoint! There will be a follow-up to this next chapter!**

 **The next chapter might be a little disturbing, so I'm apologizing in advance.**

 **PS: Do I have Filipino readers here? Have any of you watched General Moon - er, Heneral Luna? It's been more than a month and I still haven't gotten over it. Especially those absolute baes that are Rusca, Paco, Joven, and Gregorgeous, er, Goyong. Oh, and Mr. Mabini is an absolute puppy.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


	26. Obssession

**A/N: And I'm back! I'm sorry for disappearing for over a year, I had been going through some things that were mostly unpleasant but manageable. I'm back to semiregular updates now though!**

* * *

 **Chapter 26: Obssession**

 _Forgive me for saying this, but this is an absolutely foolish idea,_ Brand whispers in my head.

I ignore him and continue making my way through the water gardens, the bubbling sound of the fountains filling my senses. I know it's foolish, I do. I have to face Kifain somewhere more private, though. Knowing him, he might do something _more than foolish_.

Kifain was waiting for me as I expected him to. He was alone save for his dragon, just like I am. Seeing him armed with nothing but his sword and his magic fills me with confidence. He should never think of trying anything foolish around me. I am the Master Lorekeeper, daughter and pupil of Elder Oromis, Rider of Brand.

"Ash," he greets me, eyes turning bright. There is something _unsettling_ about the way they glint, but I pay it no heed. "Is it true?"

"What do you mean?" I try to probe his mind, hoping that I could glean anything from it. I get nothing but a wall of steel.

His lips curl up, forming an unpleasant smile. "You _married_ that half-breed."

Rage fills me. "Who I choose to marry matters not to you. And do not call him or anyone else a half-breed if you do not want to lose your tongue."

"I knew you first," he went on, apparently oblivious to my displeasure. "You could have had me!"

Everyone calls him mad, and I think I could understand why.

"You have no right," I tell him, my hand flying to Caliburn's hilt. I wanted to do something, anything, that would get rid me of him. "No one but I have the right to make choices for myself."

"I knew you first, admired you first." He draws his blade, its lurid shade glinting faintly. "I must have you."

I feel glad for my years of training when I block his blows just in time with Caliburn. I know I am stronger and faster than him because my father taught me everything he knew. I muster everything I have and try to break through his mental defenses as we exchanged attacks, aware that he was also looking for an opening in my mind. I hear loud roars followed by a gust of tempestuous wind as our dragons took to the sky, attempting to mirror our fight.

Breaking through his barrier takes little effort, but he quickly retaliates with his own attacks. Our blades lock together as we struggle for dominance. His mind scares me, the way everything feels like a fractured, incoherent mass of thoughts.

I couldn't grasp anything - his very thoughts slip away so quickly. If he truly is mad, then he is using it to his advantage.

We both retreat behind our walls again and step back, eyeing each other with respect. _I underestimated him._

 _I know. I underestimated his dragon too._ Brand lands behind me, unharmed but angry. Kifain eyes me, a smile on his face as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

"I was right to desire you," he says.

"I am not an object to be desired," I tell him. Rage still bubbles in me, and it takes all of my self control not to attack him.

He lets out a hacking laugh, and I note that I was able to land a blow on him after all. His gut is bleeding though he does not bother to heal himself. I feel a stinging pain and look down to see that my arm is also bleeding, albeit lightly. He grazed me, but I injured him.

"He'll never have you again," he says, his voice chilling me.

 _Tryndemiel. Brand, we have to make sure he's well._ I glare at him, brandishing my blade. "Leave. I will not say a word about what happened here if you never show your face again."

"You'll never see me again, I assure you." He smiles at me before mounting Palasin and flying off.

I can feel Brand's worry as I clamber up his back sluggishly. I feel too exhausted for something as minor as a scuffle. _It was too easy._

 _I know._ He's trying hard to hide it but I know he's alarmed. He spreads his wings and head for the Hall of Elders.

 _What's wrong?_ I keep telling my heavy body that we have to look for Tryndemiel and make sure Kifain did nothing to him. My wounded arm feels numb and I realize just _what_ was wrong. _Poison?_

 _Yes. I think._ My dragon's uncertainty scares me more than anything else.

I grip his saddle as tight as I can. _No. We have to find my husband. Hurry._

Tryndemiel is waiting for us in the rose garden, worry etched on his face. "What happened?" he called out, eyes on my arm as Brand lands a little too sloppily.

The numbness is creeping up and I try to calm myself. The faster my heart beats, the faster the poison spreads. "We had a fight." I try to climb down my dragon's back, but the numbness is now spreading as pain begins to radiate out of the wound, trying to chase away the deadened feeling. I tumble off with a gasp.

 _Ash!_ Brand's voice feels distant as my sluggish thoughts grow more and more difficult to control.

Nausea hits me and I keel over. I count myself lucky - Tryndemiel is fast enough to catch me, but my mind couldn't comprehend what he's telling me. I simply spend the last moments staring at him before my strength falters and my mind drifts away.

I slip in and out of consciousness a few times, oblivious to time. I remember only bits and pieces of the next few days. I remember seeing my father once, and hearing Brand's incoherent thoughts. The next thing I remember is someone mentioning Kifain's name quietly. It should have angered me but I'm too tired to think of it too much.

I see more people I know - elders and Wisdoms and friends. They say something but I couldn't comprehend. I simply let myself slip away again and dream for the first time since my fight with Kifain.

 _I see sorrow._

 _I see as a pair of Riders and their dragons descend the lower levels of the Hall of Records. They stop and turn to give me a look and identical sad, wistful smiles. I should be able to recognize them, but I can't. I still smile back before bowing my head, murmuring something in the Ancient Language. I begin to weep._

 _I see Doru Araeba burning, watch as armored warriors strike down person after person. I cry out for them and prepare to fight but a wracking pain hit my belly before I can do anything else._

 _I see a woman carrying two bundles of swaddled cloth fleeing from the doors to the Hall of Records. I watch her pass through the empty Hall of Memories and through its doors. I exchange glances with the only other person in the room - the only person I recognize in this dream. Tryndemiel. We nod to each other and turn back to the door. We begin to sing._

 _I see nothing but smoke in the sky, clutching on to something for dear life as we soar through the air. I can feel part of myself fading._

I wake up alone in my room, naked and covered in blankets.

I feel sore but otherwise whole. The wound on my arm is nothing but a fading mark. My mind still feels hazy but I cast out my thoughts and look for Brand - which was surprisingly easy. _Where are you?_

 _I'll be there soon_ , he tells me, showing me an image of him eating somewhere in the mountains. _Tryndemiel is with your father but he should be going back anytime._

He's right. Only a few seconds pass before the door opens and my husband storms in. He stares at me, as if trying to comprehend what he was seeing, before he breaks into a smile.

"You don't know how _happy_ I am to see you awake," he mumbles, eyes all but _tearing_ up as he ran to my side, taking my hand.

"I have so many questions to ask but I don't know where to start," I admit with a groan.

"You were poisoned. Abyss' Breath." He didn't look too happy with it and for a good reason. I remember my father telling me about that substance - the only ones in legal existence are kept hidden in our order's vaults. I fear that he may have stolen some for this. "You slept for five days."

 _He couldn't have you and must have wanted no one else to have you either._ Brand peeked out from his perch outside my room, his massive azure eye staring at me piercingly.

"Kifain is a fugitive now. We're all keeping an eye out for him." Tryndemiel's hand tightened around mine. "He must pay."

 _A fugitive._

I feel myself shudder. Few Riders and dragons ever broke the order's laws. All of them lost their lives. "He made his choice already."

His eyes darkened before he turned away. "I know. Your father has been most understanding. He did not blame me for what happened."

"Oromis has no right to blame you for my choices." I sit up, pleased that I am strong enough to do so. I pull him into a kiss. It may be silly of me, but I want to be ravaged just for today.

I spend the next few days meeting with the Elders, telling them about my encounter with Kifain and receiving reassurances that justice will be dealt. I smile and nod along, thanking them for everything they were doing. It doesn't remove the nagging feeling that it would never happen in the foreseeable future.

* * *

 **Well, that's it for now! To answer a few lingering questions that I hope you guys would still want to ask, yes, Ash's kids were already introduced in Bloodwar (which I'll try updating tomorrow!) Again, I'm really sorry for just dropping out but I promise I'll finish this series if it's the last thing I do!**


	27. Winds of Destiny

**Chapter 27: Winds of Destiny**

 _Breathe, Ash, you must remember to breathe_ , Brand whispers in my head.

I take big lungfuls of air as I wade through the room full of corpses. The stench is overwhelming, especially for one whose senses are akin to that of an elf's. My father leads the way, his face schooled into the serene mask that I have still yet to learn.

"These are everyone who were in the Dancing Bear last night when Kifain passed through," he is saying over the nauseated buzz in my head. "One of them recognized him from the drawings and fairths that we have been spreading."

"I am almost afraid to conclude that this person tried to apprehend him." I'm sure he did.

My father's nod is almost imperceptible. "Suffice to say, Kifain _overreacted_."

My stomach churns at the thought. _Disgusting._

 _He is a disgrace to your kind and mine,_ hisses Brand.

I try not to retch. "If we had any idea about what happened then it means there was a witness."

"A werecat. It was prudent enough to pretend that it was a mere housecat." Oromis pauses before turning to me. "He may have thought that he was above the murder of a cat. This werecat in question saw him fly off south and east with his dragon."

"To the Hadarac Desert, maybe?" I ponder. "Dragons would not mind the heat, and there are lands yet unexplored farther east."

My father's gray gaze latches on me, as if trying to "We are looking into that possibility."

* * *

I am forced to push thoughts of Kifain's whereabouts to the back of my head as the hatching ceremonies throughout Alagaesia are about to begin. I am one of the Riders assigned to oversee the ceremony in Bullridge, and I must focus on the task ahead.

Bullridge itself is a small, relatively quiet town west of the Ramr River, memorable for the sprawling farms that dotted the landscape around it and the small wooden tower that act as our outposts in this area. A few dragons are soaring through the air as Brand and I arrive, and they send us lazy greetings as we land right outside the outpost.

A human Rider clad in gray armor greets us, her loose dark hair fluttering with the wind. Her glassy green eyes roam around my form. We exchange greetings, as we were taught to do from childhood.

"Master Lorekeeper Ash, I am Insilbeth of Narda. My dragon, Shariva, wishes to convey her greetings too. She is unfortunately on a hunt and might not return 'till shortly before the ceremony." Her voice is brisk, businesslike.

"Well met, Rider Insilbeth." I incline my head, giving her a smile that she does not return. "We shall begin shortly after sunrise, so I suggest that you summon Shariva so she may attend."

"Of course." A slight hint of irritation flashes across the other Rider's face, but she quickly schools her features back into a placid mask.

 _It seems that she does not wish to be told what to do,_ notes Brand.

 _I know._ We've met a fair number of Riders like her.

We make rounds around Bullridge, exchanging greetings with the local Riders and civilians alike. It's a small place that is bustling with activity as people within and outside the city walls scurry to the town square. Children stare at me with wide eyes, while adult bow their heads reverently as I pass. I am still not used to the kind of respect and admiration that my kind receives - especially in smaller communities.

The sun is a golden blaze in the eastern horizon when we begin the hatching ceremony. People line up in the square by age, starting from children at the age of ten to the oldest, white haired adults who are still holding on to the hopes that a dragon's hatching could help prolong their lives. It has happened a few times in the history of our order, though the new Riders' training is longer but more tedious to account for their age and the time it takes for take on a youthful form.

The first child to approach us is a tall, handsome boy of ten, his body sturdy and healthy from years of working in a farm. His eyes are mismatched - one is as black as his hair, and the other as blue as the midmorning sky. He stares at me so intensely that I wouldn't be surprised if he is trying to _read_ me.

He turns away and reaches out to the seven dragon eggs that are placed on pedestals. His fingers touch their surface possessively, self assured that one of them will hatch for him. He's not wrong.

The bloodred egg hatched for him and he all but glows with pride as I beckon him to approach us.

"Tell me your name, young Rider," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He beams at me. "They call me Morzan."

* * *

"How long will it be before I can ride it?" Morzan asks me petulantly as we walk through the halls of Doru Araeba, clutching his little dragon in his arms.

The question does not surprise me - after all, flying with a dragon is an irreplaceable experience. "You will need to wait for a month or so before _she_ is of the right size for it."

Morzan does not seem pleased by it. "That would take too long. Is there no way to make her grow faster?"

"That would be unnatural." I flinch, remembering my old discussions with my father regarding the transformative nature of magic. I point at the pair of oak doors leading to Oromis' study. "Your new teacher awaits. Hurry."

The boy sticks out his tongue and scurries into the room, his dragon squeaking as the movement jostles it.

 _I do not understand why Father would want someone as irritable as Morzan for his new pupil_. I sigh and make my way back to the Hall of Records to catch up on days of work that I missed.

 _Knowing your father, he would most likely try to bend that child's attitude._ Brand does not sound amused by Morzan's petulance either.

I traverse the steps to the Hall of Memory, where some Wisdoms peruse the shelves to assist scholars with their research. I nod and exchange greetings with them before proceeding to the Hall of Records and the classified information that they keep away from public eye. I feel excitement welling up with me as I approach the doors, feeling childishly giddy at the thought of seeing Tryndemiel again.

I find him embroiled in an argument with Formora.

"Like I said, Wisdom Formora, we cannot release any information from the Hall of Records without prior approval from the Master Lorekeeper." Tryndemiel is saying, standing beside my vacant desk with his hands behind his back. "You of all people should know that she will be most displeased if we do not follow protocol."

Formora lets out a hiss of breath. "Seeker, my House seeks important information regarding _Ash_ herself."

Tryndemiel stiffens but keeps his stance. "The _Master Lorekeeper_ is right behind you. Why don't you ask her about what she thinks?"

Formora turns around so fast that I am afraid she might hurt herself. She stares at me with her sharp eyes. "Master Lorekeeper." Her voice is barely restraining her impatience. "House Valtharos seeks permission to get more information about you."

"About me?" I raise my brows. "And why, pray tell, do they need such information?"

"My House wishes to know more about you before they seek an audience." Formora's words are uttered through gritted teeth, her voice unconvincing. "And your husband refuses to disclose anything."

"Of course. We must follow protocol." I take my seat and stare at her, noting her incredulous expression. Why would House Valtharos want to know more than what everyone else does? "They must know all there is to know about me at this point - my parentage, achievements, my marriage."

Formora froze. "I cannot disclose my House's secrets."

I tilt my chin up. I would never be as imposing as my elven father but I must also command _respect_. "You are a Rider before you are an elf, Wisdom Formora. Have you forgotten?"

She mumbles something incoherrently. She pauses, as if thinking, before she speaks again. "Very well. We shall not speak of this again. Forget that I asked for more information." She turns and leaves, her crimson cloak swishing behind her.

 _What was that about?_ Brand asks my husband and me.

 _I do not know either, but there was something odd about her._ I lean into Tryndemiel's embrace, letting his warmth soothe my sore body. I've had a long day.

Brand huffs and shows me a mental image of his perch - the nearest he could get to my underground study. _I would have torn her limb from limb if she tried to hurt you._

 _She won't, but I appreciate your concern nonetheless._ I groan, feeling fatigue wash over me.

Tryndemiel rubs my temples gently. _I have reasons to believe that she was simply using her House as an excuse. I have heard... things... while you were away._

I all but straighten up in alarm. _What things?_

The grimness of his golden gaze unsettles me. _She wishes to take your place as Master Lorekeeper._

* * *

 **I did promise semiregular updates again, I guess...**

 **Also, I'm pretty sure you guys know what's going to happen next chapter! The question is, ARE YOU GUYS READY?**


	28. Triumvirate of Fate

**Chapter 28: Triumvirate of Fate**

It's always the same dream - fire and death, separation and pain, people I should be able to recognize but truly can't. It all fills me with fear that I cannot put into words. I am well aware that they are premonitions of a great cataclysm - but how or when or if I can prevent it, I do not know at all.

I wake up drenched in cold sweat almost exactly a year after my father took on that human, Morzan, as his new apprentice. My legs are still wrapped around my sleeping husband's waist, his arms around me as they should be. I know I should feel safe but I can feel myself trembling. I cast my mind around to see if my dragon is awake.

 _Of course I am,_ Brand tells me, his voice reassuring as he pokes his head through the curtains that separate our room from his perch right outside. His crimson eyes stare at me, as if studying me. _It's that dream again._

 _I know it is._ My words come out a little sharper than I intend and I recoil. _I'm sorry. I'm just worried, that's all. I still can't recognize anyone in the dream._

 _I can't either. That's what worries me the most. I know we should but we truly can't. It is useless, as far as premonitions go._ Brand let out a puff of smoke from his massive nostrils, impatience and frustration pouring out of his being.

Tryndemiel stirs. A small groan escapes his lips as he moves a little, his warm breath tickling my hair. "Ash, why are you already awake?" he asks, confusion coloring his voice. "Shouldn't you be trying to get a little more sleep before you leave later?"

 _I forgot about the hatching ceremony!_ I echo his groan, placing a hand on my head. "I know I should be, but I really don't feel tired anymore. It's that dream again."

I am still not sure if I was right in telling Tryndemiel about the dream. I had no other choice, though. We never keep secrets from each other. It frustrates him too, the way the dream seems to dangle important knowledge tantalizingly over our heads but never telling us what it exactly is.

Breakfast is a rowdy affair, as always. Eoran joins us for the meal, rambling about his excitement over finally taking in an apprentice. "I didn't work hard for nothing," he says happily.

He has finally passed the test to join the Sentinels - the peacekeepers of our land, so to speak. They are the Riders who travel specifically to keep an eye out for any trouble brewing - whether among our own people or the Urgals that constantly terrorize everyone in Alagaesia. Their leader, the Master Enforcer, is an elf named Kialandi - someone I am wary of due to his connection with Formora.

"I am sure you'll pick a brilliant pupil," Tryndemiel tells our friend kindly.

Eoran all but glows as he smiles at us. "I do hope so. Ash, please send Sevanna my love."

I roll my eyes playfully. "Do you not have a scrying mirror for that?"

He sticks out his tongue childishly at me. "I do, but she finds it sweeter if someone else passes on the message every now and then."

It is noon when Brand and I make it to Gil'ead. The city is bustling with activity already, and so is the Rider outpost just to the east. The ceremony isn't going to start until tomorrow but the bigger human cities make it a point to prepare early, as there will be much feasting and singing after all is said and done.

The Riders in the outpost welcomes us warmly. One of them is my sister, Serylda, herself. She flashes a friendly yet reserved smile at me as we approach. "Greetings, Master Lorekeeper," she calls out. She tilts her head as an invitation and we land in front of her. I barely have time to clamber down Brand's back before my sister's dragon, Aegar, emerges from somewhere in the outpost and lands beside Brand.

"Greetings, Serylda," I echo, trying to make myself sound as friendly as possible. I don't feel anymore resentment over my father and Freynera and their children, but I guess they all have the right to feel wary. "Please, just call me Ash. We are not in Doru Araeba. As you may have seen, they sent me here early to assist you with the preparations."

"There is nothing much that we need," she points out. "Sevanna of Therinsford won't be arriving with the eggs until tomorrow."

I try not to recoil. "Very well, then. I shall just stay in my quarters and complete some records that I am working on." I hold out a hand to stop Brand's angry growls. _I do not wish to start a fight, especially not with her._

 _If you say so._ Brand doesn't sound pleased, but I am glad that he respects my decision.

"That would be more prudent." My half sister turns away with a swish of her crimson cloak.

I do not doubt the fact that she does not like me.

I go about my duties for the rest of that day, greeting Riders who wish to meet the Master Lorekeeper, Oromis' daughter, and hero of Avhan's Uprising. I am not truly comfortable with the kind of hero worship that my fellow Riders bestow upon me but I try to be as pleasant as I can. I constantly remind myself that they are doing nothing wrong, despite the fact that it feels so overwhelming at times,

Dawn arrives, cold and windy. Winter receded its icy fingers late this year, so we can still feel the vestiges of its wrath clinging to the air, leaving behind an unpleasant chill that lingers to our bones. It does not help that I could feel Serylda's cool stare from behind me as we assemble and wait for the ceremony to begin.

Hatching ceremonies are more tedious in big cities like Gil'ead compared to smaller settlements such as Carvahall, but I do not mind it. There is a higher chance of more eggs hatching in more populous areas, after all. I can almost taste the anticipation in the air as people young and old assemble, the excitement bleeding through the buzz of conversation around us.

Sevanna arrives just in time with the dragon eggs, She beams at me, signalling that we must talk later, before turning to set down the eggs on the pedestals that we prepared. A hush spreads through the crowd, rippling from the front to the back.

The hatching ceremony begins.

Everything goes smoothly, the way I am used to. The first group of ten year olds approach the egg and try to touch it, waiting for something, anything, to happen. I am disappointed when none hatches for them. Next come the eleven year olds, as excited as the ten year olds. None hatches for them either. The same goes for the twelve year olds.

A loud horn sounds as soon as I call out to the thirteen year olds.

A crier's voice rends the air. "Make way for the Fifth Prince!"

I exchange looks with Sevannah and am pleased to see that she is as incredulous as I am. Though Gil'ead is the seat of the human king, never before had any member of the royal family make such a spectacle when they join the hatching ceremony.

The Fifth Prince is a thirteen year old boy, his long dark hair tied back with a simple red ribbon to keep the wild curls away from his face. He is a good looking child, I must admit, with canted violet eyes - the eyes of kings - and an upturned nose and berry lips that curled with amusement as a group of knights ushered him to our podium. Though he is definitely not the heir to the throne, he moves with such confidence and grace that it would be easy to believe that he is.

He stares at us, all but bursting with pride, when a bright purple egg hatches for him. He does not even flinch when he recieves his gedwey ignasia, merely stepping forward to pick up his dragon and approach us with a charming smile when the glowing subsides.

"Well met, young Rider. What is your name?" Sevanna asks.

He tilts his chin up with the arrogance befitting his station. "Is that how you address the Fifth Prince, woman?"

"You are an apprentice Rider, not a prince anymore. It would do you well to remember that. Now, tell me your name again before we lose our patience." Sevanna narrows her eyes and bares her teeth.

He seems astonishingly cowed. For all the show of courage and hot air, he is nothing but a scared child. "I am Galbatorix."

"I don't know what you're thinking, taking that _boy_ as your apprentice," I say as I pace around Eoran's little study, passing by his occupied desk. He and Sevanna and Tryndemiel watch me with a mix of amusement and concern.

Sevanna leans against the wall, arms crossed. "I must admit that she's right. That child is a handful."

"Well, someone has to do the job, right?" Eoran counters with a sigh. "Someone needs to guide him, help him get rid of that arrogance. It's the downfall of many Riders, like Kifain."

I feel myself stiffen at the mention of his name. Kifain has been gone for twelve years. Everyone has been too busy to think of him for over a year now, with all the chaos sown by the growing Urgal tribes and an unrest between the Wandering Tribes of Hadarac Desert.

"Then we wish you good luck." I mean it.

Tryndemiel turns to Eoran, a look of concern on his face. "Do not hesitate to ask for our help should he prove to be too much trouble for you."

"I won't, but I hope I will never need to." Eoran seems confident enough in his abilities and I hope that he is not wrong in trusting them.

I hope he really knows what he's getting into.

* * *

Another ten years pass in relative peace, to my relief. Eoran seems to be doing a good job with Galbatorix, to everyone's relief. The young Rider actually takes to him, looking up to the senior Rider with awe. I still find it difficult to believe that we're not hatchlings anymore, that we have truly spread out wings and are already walking down the paths we've all chosen for ourselves.

I am sad that I am still not with child, no matter how hard Tryndemiel and I tried to conceive. I am sorely tempted to try the witch's concoction from Sevanna, but I still do not trust it.

Before I know it, I am summoned to officiate yet another hatching ceremony, this time in Kuasta.

"I want to come with you," Tryndemiel admits. "I heard that the son of Holcomb - my aunt's descendant - is old enough to join the ceremony."

I am a little wary of taking him with me, afraid that Formora might try something while we are both away, but I know that we need time to ourselves too, far from the Doru Araeba and the intrigue that surrounds the tower. Besides, I know it would mean the world to him.

We arrive just in time for the ceremony, which is held in the city square. The smell of the sea breeze invigorates me, and my husband all but glows as he catches a whiff of it. The other Riders accept us warmly, which reminds me again - with a pang - of how hostile Serylda is to me. Judging from Jotnar's letters from Ellesmera, it sounds like he and Lisanna are friendly.

The children gathered at the very head of the crowd watch us with unbridled awe and I wonder if I can spot Tryndemiel's relative among them. I heard that their family has dwindled over the years, leaving only an impoverished Holcomb, his wife Lisbeth, and their little son Brom. Nevertheless, their trade as illuminators keep them alive though they have lost the old family estate.

I spot a child at the very front of the crowd, small and mousy, his brown hair a touseled mess just like my husband's. He was a little grimy and skinny, but I can see the intelligence brimming in his brown eyes as he peers at us with the same amazement as that of his peers.

He is the first to touch the eggs. I can feel the hope emanating from him and I curiously try to read his mind though I know it is taboo.

 _I wish. I really wish. For Father and Mother._ He looks up at me as he touches an icy blue egg, as if he is aware of what I am doing. As someone who is neither a Rider, an elf, or a spellcaster of any kind, it should be impossible. Maybe I am simply thinking too much.

The blue egg hatches. The child cries out and stumbles down, dark eyes brimming with tears - of joy, I am sure. He reaches out to touch his hatchling as it emerges and immediately cries out as the gedwey ignasia burns its mark on his palm. He flinches and lurches forward with dizzying speed that I almost fail to catch him.

"Steady yourself, child," I whisper. "It will pass."

He sniffs and pulls away from me, brushing a tear away from his eye. "Thank you, lady."

"Ash. My name is Ash." I've lost track of how many times I've had to tell people to call me by my name.

"I am Brom," he tells me, wrapping me in his spindly arms quickly before remembering what we were and withdrawing.

I smile warmly at him, something maternal stirring in me. I pat his hair, exchange glances with Tryndemiel, and straighten up. "Hail, Rider Brom," I say, raising my vocie so it rings through the crowd.

* * *

Five years pass uneventfully. There is still no word from Kifain, though we are keeping sharp eyes out for him again now that Alagaesia's relative peace has returned. My father takes Brom as a second apprentice, and it breaks my heart to see him be pushed around by the senior apprentice Morzan, who is strong of body but not of mind and unable to accept that intelligent Brom is quickly overtaking him in his lessons. It is so easy to adore the younger apprentice, I must admit, with his earnest, sweet personality.

I find Brom weeping in the rose gardens one night, clutching a piece of parchment to his chest as his body heaves with his sobs. He looks up as I approach and quickly wipes his tears away, clearly not expecting someone to find him there, of all places. He does not know that I observe him and Morzan more than I would care to admit.

"Master Lorekeeper," he says, leaping to his feet and bowing.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you can call mem Ash outside of the Halls of Memory and Records?" I chide him.

He smiles and looks up. "Forgive me."

"Now, why are you weeping?" I ask, putting an arm on his shoulder. "Did Morzan hurt you?"

"O-Of course not! Morzan is too good to do that." He really is too naive. "I have received a letter in Kuasta."

"Is this about the plague?" We've heard of news about an epidemic that struck the isolated city, spreading quickly and killing many of its citizens.

His lips wobble. "It has taken my parents' lives."

I wrap my arms around the child and let him weep into my shoulders, rubbing his back until the wracking sobs subsided. "I shall be your mother now and Tryndemiel shall be your father if you so want it. You know we are family of sorts."

"I know Master - ah, Ash." He relaxes enough for me to let him go. He wipes his tears hurriedly yet again and smiles. "Thank you."

* * *

 **I'm sorry I wasn't able to clarify the timeskip last chapter, the update got so muddled ugh. There was a 11 year timeskip between Kifain becoming Alagaesia's Most Wanted and Morzan joining the Riders. Well, er, now we've cleared that up.**

 **Also yes, two birds in one stone! Galby and Brom are hear so it means AtA is nearing its end but I'm still sticking to the 2:1 ratio for updates in AtA and Bloodwar.**

 **This update was done over the course of an hour and a half which is a great deal for me especially since I am still struggling with attention span issues and this has over 2.6K words.**

 **Read and review, as always! If all goes well, there may be another update (or two) within the week since I've finally moved into my new dorm.**


	29. Displeasure of the Mighty

**Chapter 29: Displeasure of the Mighty**

It is yet another peaceful day in the Hall of Records.

It's been a few weeks since the disastrous news from Kuasta reaches our ears. Our Riders are currently still trying their best to manage the epidemic, though everyone is hopeful that it will be quelled in no time at all. The recent events made young Brom throw himself at his training with more intensity than before, and it's easy to sense Morzan's resentment despite the hero worship that he constantly receives.

I do not get much news today, mostly reports from more victories that the Riders got in Kuasta as they tried to heal more and more citizens by the day. There's nothing much outside of that though some of our Sentinels report some Urgal clans amassing somewhere near our mountainous outpost, Utgard. We still have no further news of Kifain, which terribly worries me. I am sure that he and Palasin are still alive out there.

I am about to head for dinner when a young messenger approaches us, a terrible look of fear on his face. "Master Lorekeeper, the Elders wish to talk to you."

"Right now?" I ask, confused. Senior Riders – especially the Elders – rarely hold meetings with anyone when mealtime is so close. We are all expected to adhere to schedules wih terrible accuracy, after all.

"Y-Yes, now." The child backs away, as if afraid that he would be subjected to my wrath. "Alone."

I exchange glances with Tryndemiel, afraid that something terrible is about to happen. His golden gaze is grim today. "Go on. I'll make sure to have some food waiting for you." His voice is as calm as a winter lake, but I can still feel his fear.

Brand sends me a mental image of the mountains on the southern coasts of Doru Araeba. _I will be there as fast as I can, little one,_ he tells me. Even he sounds afraid though he may try his best to shield those thoughts away from me.

I nod and follow the child out of the Hall, up the stairs and through the rest of the tower. I enter the Room of the Elders myself, trying to calm my trembling. I see all of them staring at me, their gazes piercing me. I could feel some mental probes at the edges of my mind and I strengthen my defenses, wondering what this is all about. I gaze up at the high seat where my father is perched but he regards me as if I am not his daughter. I remind myself that we are Riders and our familiar bonds must not get in the way of our duty.

"You have been summoned here, Master Lorekeeper, because Wisdom Formora filed a complaint against you," Elder Vrael says. "She has sworn an oath in the Ancient Language to tell the truth before our Council, and she used the same language to say that you have ordered your Seeker to withhold some important information to her."

The day I have subconsciously feared has finally arrived, but I still find myself feeling confident, to my surprise. The ancient language is far from infallible.

"One may not lie in this tongue," I begin, confidence both true and feigned filling me. I know that I am speaking the truth, and nothing but the truth, in front of the most wise and fair Council of Elders in the history of our order. "One may not go against an oath they swore in this tongue either. But one can twist the truth, can they not?"

"And so you claim that Wisdom Formora is lying, then." Grim Elder Tana, a tall, slender human with severe features, leans forward to gaze at me with her dark eyes. I can see the evident displeasure on her face. "Are you saying that someone in your own organization is a _liar_?"

"Stay your tongue, Elder Tana." To my relief, Oromis is clearly irritated by Tana's words. I often disagree with my father but I know him to be fair when it comes to matters of our Order. He turns to me, his silver gaze piercing. "Now, Master Lorekeeper, we have not forgotten that you have something to say for yourself."

I tilt my chin up, trying to imitate the cool elven demeanour. "I do, as a matter of fact. I swear in this ancient tongue that I am telling the truth and shall not twist my words to conceal anything. I have done nothing but my duty to the Riders."

Elder Vrael holds out hs hands. "Then speak."

I try to comfort myself with the thought that I have done _nothing_ wrong whatsoever. "The only time I have had a disagreement with Wisdom Formora was around sixteen years ago. I just returned from the Hatching Ceremony in Bullridge and found her arguing with my husband. She was asking for information – personal information that is not disclosed to the public, not even to my Wisdoms, without consent from the Master Lorekeeper and the Seeker."

Elder Tana narrows her eyes at me but says nothing. The other Elders nod along, urging me to speak.

The way they gaze at me lends me strength. "Of course, Seeker Tryndemiel refused to disclose any information as it is outside his scope. The Seeker is not allowed to give out any information that is not yet cleared for the public unless there is permission from the Master Lorekeeper. I am sure you know that."

The Elders murmur their agreement. Another one of them, the human Laetna, gives me a knowing look. "I was Master Lorekeeper once too. Tell me, Ash, did she reveal her reasons for this troubling request? It is not everyday that someone would ask for a very senior Rider's private information – and as brazenly as you made her sound to be."

"It is not everyday, indeed." I feel emboldened by the fact that the Elders seem less harsh now – exctept for Tana. "She refused to tell me anything outside of the fact that her House needed to know more than they should before they would deign to even meet me. I did not believe it one bit, as she was using the common tongue. I tried to probe but alas, she refused to tell me anything and simply threatened me."

"You speak _grave allegations_ ," Tana tells me sourly.

"Elder Tana! You forget yourself," Elder Vrael says, his voice still calm but laced with a steel edge. "We are holding a civil conversation with the Master Lorekeeper."

"A Master Lorekeeper who shall be stripped of her responsibilities soon enough," Tana sneers.

"Enough, _Elder Tana_ ," Laetna growls, slamming her palm on her desk. She turns to me again. "Is there anything else you wish to add?"

I slowly undo my mental defenses around the right set of memories, hoping that it will be enough. "I will let you sort through my memories so you may verify for yourselves."

Elder Vrael and Laetna quickly sift through my memories, easily locating those of my encounter with Formora. They glean everything they could with the utmost care before withdrawing – and before I know it, I am cleared of all charges. Of course, I have never done _anything_ wrong to begin with but the proclamation still feels liberating.

 _Ash, I am here._ Brand shows me a mental image of his perch not far from the Room of the Elders, waiting impatiently for my response. I now realize with a pang that I blocked him from my mind during the hearing. _Are you done yet?_

 _I am. I'm sorry. Come with me, I need to eat._ I walk briskly through the halls, finally feeling the growling in my stomach that my earlier worries tried to push to the back of my head. I share my memories with him as I go along, and I see him focus on Elder Tana's clear dislike of me.

Tryndemiel is patiently waiting in the dining hall – the only civilian in the place that brimmed of nothing but apprentice Riders at this hour. He brightens up as I smile at him and quickly offers a plate of bread and cheese and berries for me. I ravenously eat while I use my mind to recount the proceedings to him. He seems more thoughtful about it, taking it all in with surprising calm in contrast to Brand's simmering rage.

"I do not know much about Elder Vana," he admits. "I am not sure if you have sifted through her public records already but I did, and there is very little disclosed in there."

Despite my enthusiasm for helping him with his old research, he is more of a scholar than I ever will be – and for that I am thankful.

"I wish to give her the benefit of the doubt but I must admit, I was suspicious of her," I tell him in between bites. "She seems so intent on deposing me."

"You were suspicious for a good reason, vallahin." His face darkens as he stares off into space. _I am afraid that someone might overhear but I have reasons to believe that she may be resentful._

 _Resentful? That would be ridiculous,_ bellows Brand. _She is an Elder. Why should she resent my Rider?_

Tryndemiel rubs his forehead, trying to recall what he knew of Vana. _She worked hard to get where she is, unlike most Elders who were apprenticed to or were officially endorsed by their predecessors. She had no connections, no prestige. She only had her achievements as one of our Arbiters. I must admit that it is so easy to see why she does not like you, who were apprenticed to an Elder who also happened to be your father, and whose mother was once expected to become the Master Sage and lead the scholars._

It was easier to understand her with her past in mind. _I must admit, I still have no idea why I was offered this post. I have not done much to deserve any recognition._

 _It is difficult to see just how much you have achieved unless someone else shows them to you._ He smiles cryptically and takes my hand, giving it the softest of squeezes.

"I hope you are happy now," Formora hisses in my ear the next day as she gathers her belongings in the Hall of Memories. "Did you ask your father to do something about me, you _bitch_?"

"Now, now," Tryndemiel says before I can open my mouth and spit out an angry retort. "There is no need to be impolite. She is still the Master Lorekeeper, _Rider_ Formora."

Formora bares her teeth and growls at us before turning away and stalking off.

"I did not ask for her to be removed from her post," I say loudly, aware that she could still hear me. "I just told them what happened to clear my name."

"I think this would be better for both of you, though," Tryndemiel points out, his mouth twitching with distaste. "Maybe stripping her of her position as Wisdom was too much, but I must admit, working in the outpost in Lithgow may teach her something about her pride."

It's difficult to push away the fresh memory of the loathing on her face, but I try my best to do it for my own sake. I need peace of mind too.

* * *

 _I still dream of fire and death, separation and tears, a song and a kiss, but I recognize no one._

 _This time, I also see a walled city. Under it is a lone horseman charging into a group of spearmen armed only with a shining teal sword. He cries out as they lunge at him but he holds his ground, deftly holding them off despite his wounds. He kills them all and rides on. A section of the wall above the gate collapses, crushing him underneath. I try to scream but the dream chokes me, pulling me back into its velvety darkness and refusing to tell me more about these nighttime visions._

* * *

 **I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be updating Bloodwar but I got a little carried away. This update made me so excited, I'm so sorry about that. Not sure how my schedule for tomorrow will go but if we're lucky I _might_ be able to squeeze in an update for the other fic.**

 **Anyway, it seems I'm finding my pace now that I've really, really pulled myself together so expect more frequent updates, maybe every other day or every three days.**


	30. The Seeds of Madness

**Chapter 30: The Seeds of Madness**

I've lost count of the years. My father says it is perfectly normal as I grow older, but the thought disconcerts me. I once foolishly thought that I am too different from elves and therefore would not succumb to the same folly, but here I am eating my own words.

I remain childless and yet the thought of using a witch's brew still puts me off, so I simply accept the fact that my husband and I truly will have trouble with conceiving. It will happen when it does.

It is a rainy day.

The dining hall is chaotic over breakfast, adding to the loud din of the outpour outside. I am comfortable in the slowly swelling crowd and the lively noises it brings. My dragon is in the western coast, hunting down his meal, while my husband is busily shovering mushroom pie in his mouth with his nose buried in his book. I watch both of them – one with my mind and the other with my eyes – feeling nothing but warm fondness in my heart.

Eoran joins us with a stormy look on his face. He spends a long moment glaring at his honeyed bread, as if willing it to burn from his gaze. "My foolish pupil seems to think that escaping me to hunt down Urgals is a wonderful plan."

"But he already finished his training, didn't he?" I ask, carefully wiping my fingers clean.

"He did but he is still too young and inexperienced to run off with two Sentinels – especially when he is not even one of them." Eoran runs his fingers through his fair hair.

"Is it not the best way for him to immerse himself in your order's way of living?" Tryndemiel asks, finally looking up from his book. He gives me a knowing look. "I do know that some apprentices even accompany their masters on quests."

Eoran falls quiet. I see a dark look in his eyes that unsettles me and makes me wonder if something was wrong with young Galbatorix. I have heard nothing but praises from his peers, after all, but of course a master always knows more than the public does about their pupil.

He stares at grimly as he begins to speak. "He is intelligent and talented, that I must agree with. He learned his lessons fast and he shows promise as a great Rider. His problem is that this made him impetuous. He seems to believe that he can do everything because he is a Rider and a former prince."

I nod along, understanding. "His confidence may be his downfall, indeed. But _what_ were you planning to do, then?"

Eoran wrings his hands before fumbling with the front of his tunic. "I wanted him to train under the Sentinels first, since it seemed like he is on the path to warriorhood. I know I am one of them but it would be better for him to study with the entire organization instead of just me and Larsashin."

I reach out and pat his arm. "I'm hoping that he is safe."

It is a tense week. Despite our responsibilities as the Master Lorekeeper and Seeker, Tryndemiel and I still make sure to watch over Eoran. He seems to grow more and more restless as the days go by – especially since he does not receive any word of his pupil's status.

* * *

Six days have passed since Galbatorix left and today I must face a visitor.

My half-sister Serylda sits across my desk from me with a cup of berry-laced tea, having requested a private meeting. It is not a busy day and I have no excuse to turn her away – and besides, she is still _family_ despite the hostility she has shown me. She watches me with her hazel eyes, as if studying my every move. I have to resist the temptation to flinch. It would do me no good if I offend her.

"I want to know more about your mother," she finally says.

I sip my own drink, savoring the zest of the berries that intertwined with the mint leaves that I added. I prolong the moment as long as possible before I speak again. "You want to know about my mother? She's been dead long before you were born." I stop myself as soon as I hear the barb that laces my voice.

To her credit, Serylda does not shy away. Indeed, she leans forward, curiosity on her face. "Then this means you are much older than I."

"Of course I am." I raise my brows, wondering why she does not know all of this.

"Father rarely spoke of your mother or your past. It always seemed to cause him great pain. I know little of you, Ash, outside of the achievements that I have been told." She smiles wryly. "It made it easier to hate you and your brother."

I narrow my eyes. "Jotnar is also your brother."

Her lip twitches in what looks like distaste. "Half-brother."

I bite back a cutting retort. I am the Master Lorekeeper and I must act appropriately. "Blood is blood."

"Blood is blood, indeed." I make a face and look down, hoping she did not notice. "Mother bore Father two children, as you are well aware. Jotnar and I are only two years apart and I was but a babe when Father left her. He said that he must distance himself as he is an Elder and people might use us against him. Just knowing that he raised you and Lysara would have been enough to resent you. I must admit tha I hated Freynera for a short while. Father did love Mother for all his faults and I cannot blame him if he found someone new. She had been dead for a long time when you and your sister were born, like I told you."

Serylda remains quiet, as if drinking in my words. Her face is as impassive as ever, her mind perfectly guarded, so I could not read what she thinks or feels.

I wonder if she is judging me by what I have told her.

"I envied you because Father had you and Jotnar before Lysara and I," she finally admitted. "I envied you for being Father's first pupil, envied you for making a name for yourself. I know it is foolish but… will you forgive a foolish young elf, _sister?_ "

For a split second, I found it tempting to be petty and tell her that I could not. My conscience shall never have any of it and so would I, so I nod to her and smile. "But of course. We all feel resentment and envy at some point in our lives."

She smiles and bows her head. "I know. It is still quite unbecoming. Your forgiveness is all I could ask for. Thank you."

* * *

Master Enforcer Kialandi already sent a search party to look for Galbatorix and his Sentinel friends just a week after they set off. They all returned bearing only bad news – that three dragons and two Riders were found slain in Urgal territory. They did not find Galbatorix in the immediate area and everyone is hoping that he survived his dragon's death. Living past the death of someone so inextricably linked to their very being is so agonizing that one often wishes for death instead if they are not driven to madness first.

Eoran worries for the foolish _lad_ so much that we find it difficult to stop him from starting his own search party.

A few more weeks pass before we receive any news of Galbatorix. It seems like a farmer from the Spine found him unconscious and starving and alerted the Riders in Utgard. They are now on the way to Doru Araeba to bring him to better healers for examination.

"Foolish boy," Eoran growls as he paces around my study, running his fingers through his hair over and over again in his agitaiton. I can understand how frustrated he feels, I must admit, as a former apprentice's performance will forever reflect on their master's reputation.

"Well, you did warn him," Tryndemiel says as he straightens up on his seat. "You did your best for him."

I nod along, knowing just how little one can do when they are dealing with someone who has a hard head. "Just be glad that he, at least, lives."

Eoran's eyes widen in outrage. "But he is hurt, he is without a dragon! How can I be glad?"

"Calm yourself," I warn him. "Being angry and upset won't help anymore. You must accept that he caused this himself. You warned him, you looked out for him, and yet he still found a way to run off into a half-baked quest of his own making."

He makes a face and turns away, clearly still unhappy. "I am a failure."

"You're _not_ a failure," Tryndemiel growls. "Your pupil was simply unwise. Hadn't you tried to curb his rashness and conceit for years? It simply did not go through that thick head of his."

"That's not making me feel any better," Eoran points out.

There is a loud knock on the door. The three of us exchange glances before Eoran flings it open, coming face to face with a young elven messenger. The two of them stare at each other in surprise for a good few seconds.

"Rider Eoran?" the elf finally says with a relieved smile. She tucks a lock of red hair behind a pointed ear in a self-conscious manner.

Eoran huffs. "Aye, that's me. Is there anything you need?"

"The Elders wishes you to join them for Galbatorix's probing," she tells him.

"Very well. Tell them I will be there soon." Eoran looks back, shooting us an anxious glance.

"Go on," Tryndemiel tells him. "We will support you no matter what."

We see nothing of Eoran until dinnertime when he joins us with a heaping plate of buttered bread sprinkled with garlic. There is a furious glint in his eyes as he sits down across the table with a huff. A grim, dark shadow looms on his face, making me wonder what transpired between him, Galbatorix, and the Elders. It must have been so terrible.

"It seems like my former apprentice has truly succumbed to the madness of his loss." Pain makes his voice crack. "He demanded for another dragon."

"And what did they tell him?" I ask, wondering what made Galbatorix decide on that. It was unheard of, but I suppose there was a first time for everything.

"They refused for a number of reasons – all sound arguments. He is not in the right mind, for once. We offered healers to help him, but he vehemently refused. Besides, the Rider and dragon bond is for life even if one is to pass on to the void, so no dragon will ever choose him as their Rider again unless there is great, inexplicable magic at work. Even if that were the case, he has shown irresponsibility and lack of wisdom that is most unnbecoming for a Rider and they could not trust him with another dragon lest he causes yet another disaster."

They are sound arguments, I must agree.

"How did he accept the news?" Tryndemiel asks, wincing. "I'm sure he did not take to it lightly."

Eoran rolled his eyes. "He threw a tantrum. Some junior Riders had to escort him out as he rant and raved. The healers put him to sleep. They will deal with him in the morning, I hear."

* * *

We never do learn what the healers were planning to do with him – after all, there is no known cure for madness. Galbatorix is gone without a trace by morning. This news unsettles us more than his the fate of his companions do – after all, in his current state, he could do absolutely anything. He had already shown rashness and ill judgement. His madness would surely make it worse – not just for him, but for other Riders too.

* * *

 **Okay, I know, I know, this came out late. It's been a hectic week as I'm singlehandedly organizing a company event. My interns have been dumped with unrelated work by my boss and my boss doesn't really know what she's supposed to do. All is well, though.**

 **I'm not really sure what old me was thinking because she still had 15 chapters planned after this but things are speeding up beautifully and we all know what's going to happen soon, right? Please don't kill me.**

 **On more important news, the southern part of my country is currently at war with ISIS and I'm a little scared.**


	31. The Storm Arrives

**Chapter 31: The Storm Arrives**

It's been three months since the incident with Galbatorix. I haven't heard from Eoran since he left Doru Araeba last week, still angry and disappointed with himself. I do receive word from Sevanna that they are together and relatively safe. Tryndemiel and I are still worried, of course. Even I would be troubled and upset if my first pupil suffers a tragedy like Galbatorix did.

"He couldn't just tell himself that it's not his fault," Tryndemiel muses as we lay in bed, arms wrapped around each other.

I bask in his warmth as the last vestiges of winter cling to the fresh spring air. I close my eyes, take in the scent of honey that seems to cling to his very skin. "I agree. He tried his best to curb the boy's pride. I hate to admit this but Galbatorix brought tragedy upon himself."

He holds me closer, fingers rubbing against my arm. "I know, vallahin. It's difficult not to feel terrible about it all. Eoran did nothing wrong."

Despite our conversation, I sleep soundly that night, lulled to quiet oblivion by the sound of his heartbeat.

We are jolted awake by a loud scream, followed by maddened laughter. I sit up, reaching for my sword from my bedside. Exchanging looks with Tryndemiel, we dash out of our chamber armed with our blades and clad in nothing but our skin.

 _What's happening?_ Brand shows me a bright beacon that is lighting up the very top of our tower. That's Eragon's Flame, which is only supposed to light up when there is an intruder in the tower – something that has never happened before.

Fear settles in my gut as we make our way down the hall. I can hear other people stirring in the hallway but it seems like we will be the first to the scene. We follow the sounds of the laughter until we make it to the apprentices' quarters just two corridors away. I must admit that I am not ready for the sight that greets us.

We find Galbatorix crouched in front of two corpses – a young elven Rider and a silver hatchling. Blood drips from his hands and fleck his face. He's clutching something small and glittery which I quickly recognize as an _Eldunari_. I raise my blade, about to attack him, when he throws out his free hand and utters a word of power that he shouldn't be able to use without a dragon.

Tryndemiel and I are blown away by a powerful wind which carries traces of dark magic with it. I barely manage to regain my balance before I catch him flee into the shadows.

* * *

"I let him get away," I tell my Oromis blankly as he we leave the funeral.

I've tried and tried to weep for the past two days but I couldn't summon any tears. I should have apprehended Galbatorix. I should have done better.

"You did the best you can. You and your… _husband_ lived nearest to the quarters and more damage may have been done if you did not arrive to intervene." Oromis is as calm as ever. It would have infuriated me a long time ago but now I just appreciate his ability to appear calm and competent no matter what the situation is. "What worries me is the fact that he learned dark magic. I can still sense the energy from his spell – it still lingers in the apprentices' quarters."

I clench my fists as I remember the former Rider's maddened gaze. "It can only be a Shade."

"Of course. Galbatorix needed a teacher and only a Shade would know dark spells, unorthodox methods of casting magic and manipulating energy." Oromis' mouth twitches with the slightest hint of displeasure. "I am amazed that Galbatorix was able to use similar magic without having to turn into one."

I've never heard of Shades in my lifetime. If it troubles my father then it means that it is as worrying as my history lessons made them out to be. "We must hunt him down too, then."

He nods. "I've already sent Sentinels to look for Galbatorix and any suspicious spellcaster."

I want to help, but I have to remind myself that I am the Master Lorekeeper and must attend to my own responsibilities.

* * *

Four months pass and the moderately cool spring segues into the hottest summer in recent history.

We hear nothing about Galbatorix, though almost all Sentinels are still on the search for him. Father even reluctantly allowed young Morzan to join the hunt. The boy was too eager to prove himself and while he is weak of mind, we must all admit that his talent in combat and even magic are most admirable.

Young Brom joins Tryndemiel and me for breakfast around a fortnight after Morzan left. He sits across the table from us with a quiet, thoughtful look on his face. "Morzan wanted me to come with him to the hunt but I chose to stay here."

"And why would that be?" I ask, raising my brows before turning back to the last bites of my pie.

He briefly touches the blade on his hip – silver-blue Undbitr – and his mouth twitches in distaste. "I want to train more."

Tryndemiel inclined his head. "Even if you've finished your apprenticeship?"

Brom blinks. It takes him a while to utter his reply. "A Rider's training is for life."

I must admit, I have to agree with that. I myself still have a lot to learn, though it's been around a century since I finished my training. "We will always have a lot to learn. Even I do."

"So what exactly do you want to learn?" Tryndemiel asks, leaning forward with interest.

Brom dithers, as if wondering whether to trust my husband or not. "I want to learn more about swordplay. I know I am passable enough to finish my training there but I am still pitiful compared to the likes of Morzan."

I exchange looks with Tryndemiel. Brom is a decent swordsman, but I must agree that Morzan is better than him. Brom has always been more talented with magic, though. Morzan is barely passable despite my father's tutelage.

Tryndemiel grins. He has always been a talented swordsman – even more so after his training in Ellesmera. "I'd take you on as a pupil of sorts, then. I don't really mind."

Brom's eyes widen in awe. "R-Really? I mean, thank you, Seeker Tryndemiel. It would mean a lot to me."

Before Tryndemiel or I could respond to that, the dining hall bursts open. Sevanna marches in, as beautiful and golden haired as I remember, her green eyes flashing with fear and worry. She rushes to our table and grabs my arm.

"Ash, your father wishes to talk to you. _Now,_ " she all but pleads.

I rise to my feet, exchanging glances with Tryndemiel. "Is something wrong?"

She stomps her foot on the ground and digs her nails into my skin. "Is it not obvious? Come, it is an emergency!"

 _Just listen to her, Ash. I think something terrible happened,_ Brand whispers in my head.

Dread fills me as I follow her to my father's study. We find Oromis pacing around the room with an uncharacteristically agitated look on his face. I've never seen him so upset about anything for years.

He stops pacing and turns to me as we approach, a grim look crossing his pale, silver eyes. "Morzan has betrayed us," he tells me.

"Betrayed us?" I ask. "How can it be? He is so eager to prove himself as a Rider!"

"No, he was eager to gain more power and prestige – two things that Galbatorix offered him."

"What happened?" I ask.

A small, pained whine escapes Sevanna's lips. "Nasuen – the only Rider from this year's egg hatching ceremony – I took her as an apprentice. She was most promising but…" She rocks on her feet and we are barely able to catch her before she lurches forward, wailing in distress.

"Morzan and Galbatorix murdered her five nights ago," Oromis says grimly. "They used dark magic to ensure her hatchling Shruikan's survival and stole him. No one has seen them since, though we are all searching for them."

I feel my gut sink. _Morzan. And I thought he was a promising Rider, despite his faults._

 _So did I._ I could sense the rage rippling in Brand's core. _They will pay for this attrocity, Ash._

I look up, seeing the same rage in Oromis and Sevanna's eyes. _Yes. They will pay._

* * *

Years pass and Riders stop searching for Galbatorix, his mysterious tutor, and Morzan. Every search party came up empty handed like they did with Kifain and simply decided that he was not worth the bother. This negligence puts me at ease but I am no Elder. I know that despite my order's negligence, the three of them are still out there, simply biding their time.

I find this winter morning unusually cold. My body feels sluggish and I could barely convince myself to rise from my bed. My head hurts so much that keeping myself steady has become a challenge. I stumble to Tryndemiel, who is busy donning his clothes, and he turns to me in alarm.

"What's wrong?" he asks as he puts his hands on my waist.

I couldn't even focus on his golden eyes. I couldn't even process what Brand is trying to tell me amidst the sudden ringing in my ears. "I – I don't know," I say before clamping my mouth shut to stop myself from retching.

I must be ill.

I clutch Tryndemiel's shoulders as he pulls me close, running a soothing hand down my hair. "I'll take you to a healer," he says. His voice makes me shudder in confused pleasure.

I don't resist as he takes me in his arms and carry me out of the room. I lean against him instead, trying to bask in his warmth. It clears my head enough for me to understand Brand again.

 _Ash, I don't think you're ill,_ he tells me.

 _Then what?_ I snap before flinching. What is going on with me?

 _I can feel something else but… I don't know._ He sends me confused images of other dragons tending to their young, a flash of colorful wings, a new Rider holding their hatchling dragon.

An idea begins to form at the back of my head but I fight it off. I've learned long ago not to subscribe to wishful thinking. I do not want to be disappointed in the end.

"Ash, I hope you're just talking to Brand and not, you know, being ill," Tryndemiel murmurs.

I shudder and press even closer, smiling in contentment. "I was talking to Brand." I don't want to tell him my suspicions – at least, not yet.

We make it to the Healers. A wave of nausea hits me and I lose track of what's going on. Next thing I know, I am lying on a cot while a pair of human Riders poke and prod at me with curiosity in their eyes.

"Why wouldn't any of you tell me what's wrong?" Tryndemiel demands, rage coloring his voice. "What happened to Ash? Can you cure this illness?"

"The Master Lorekeeper is not ill," one of the Healers says. Her voice contained barely-controlled amusement which infuriates me. "There is nothing wrong with her, as a matter of fact."

"Then why, oh why, is this happening to her, then?" Tryndemiel demands, putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot on the floor as he glowers at the two of them.

The two Healers laugh in this infuriating manner that makes me want to punch their faces. "This must be a cause of celebrration, Seeker Tryndemiel. Your wife is with child."

"With child?" I croak. My hands quickly fly to my belly, trying to feel any signs of life in it though I know that I couldn't – not just yet. Now the mental imagery that Brand sent me makes sense.

Tryndemiel's eyes widen as he runs to my side, hands touching my belly too. "If this is true then – then we will finally have what we've been wishing for. It's been years and years."

"I know." I fight off the stinging in my eyes as they water. I can't weep – not in front of these healers. The thought of all the threats surrounding us is enough to terrify me, cloud the joy that burst through my heart just moments before. We have too many enemies. "We must protect them."

"And so we will," he whispers, wrapping his arms around me.

* * *

 **I'm really, _really_ sorry for the lateass chapter. Things came up and I also had a bad case of hives this weekend. But well, here it is, we're nearing the end of Ash's story... for now. We all know that she and her family survived the Fall but are they the only Riders who did? What do you guys think?**


	32. The Beginning of the End

**Chapter 32: The Beginning of the End**

I of all people should have known that happiness could easily come to pass.

It has only been a fortnight since we learned that I am with child and yet here I am, feeling all the joy sucked out at me as I receive the summons from my father just as I've finished my dinner.

I feel my palms sweating as I make my way to his study, my stomach roiling at the thought of what he might be needing from me. I hope it has nothing to do with the child I'm bearing.

I'm still a short distance away from the study when I suddenly hear voices.

"I care not if he was my friend and peer, Master, I want to join the hunt," Brom was saying in a heated tone.

"It would be better if you let the senior Riders do it." There's my father, as passive as always. "You may have finished your training but you still have much to learn."

There was a long pause, followed by the sound of Brom clearing his throat. "But would I not learn better if you let me get out there and do what a Rider is supposed to do?"

I throw the door open, disrurpting their talk. They both look up at me - my father from his desk, Brom from a chair across the room. The human stood up, mouth half-open in greeting. I hold out my hand, motioning for him to return to his seat before turning to my father. "What's happening?"

"We've received news from Ilirea," he says grimly. "It's Galbatorix."

I feel myself turn cold. My hands quickly fly to my quickening belly, suddenly fearing for my sweet, unborn child. "What did he do now?"

"He has gained an accomplice, or so we have heard from the scant number of accounts." My father looks so much older as his silver gaze pauses at Brom's face.

Brom's mouth twitched. "He has Morzan with him now and - and he also murdered an apprentice - Sidrain, an elf."

"Is there a reason as to why he would murder an apprentice again?" I feel myself turn cold - not just for another senseless loss of life, but also because of Morzan.

 _It's hard to believe that he would betray us for a madman,_ I muse.

I feel Brand stir in my head _. There are many things that are hard to believe in this world, Ash._ I could feel him echoing my sorrowful disappointment and I bask in our shared emotions.

I love my dragon. I could not even imagine parting with him and losing our connection.

"They... stole Sidrain's dragon, Shruikan. It's something unheard of." Despite his composure, I know my father enough to see the dark flickers of unrest in his eyes.

 _And why would they steal a dragon that has been bonded to a Rider already?_ Brand muses, sounding just the slightest bit confused as he let his thoughts be known to everyone in the room. _He could not bend it to his will even if he truly is still desperate for one._

 _We know that._ Oromis sighed - it was barely audible, but it was there _. How are we to know a madman's motives? How are we even to know what he promised Morzan?_

"Someone once said that Galbatorix now knows of dark arts," Brom offers quietly. "Maybe he... he tempted Morzan with it. Morzan used to tell me that our tutelage felt inadequate to him."

Oromis nods. "The temptation of power is all too possible." He pauses, surveying the two of us in his usual placid silence.

"We can't tell anyone about this, right?" I finally ask.

"That's true. I believe you may tell your husband, but absolutely no one else - and especially not Eoran." My father's words send a jolt running down my spine.

Eoran... he will take this news badly. I shudder.

Then we shall not tell him, like your father already ordered us. Brand sends a tendril of comforting warmth through our bond.

"What will you have us do?" I wrap my arms around myself, wondering what this could mean for the future.

Oromis smiles. "Forgive me, my daughter, I know you are pregnant but I want you and Brom to visit Ilirea. They have been asking for us to send over someone to help with the investigations."

"And you're sending the Master Lorekeeper and a new Rider?" I shake my head and laugh just a little. The reckless, adventurous part of me is clashing with the sudden protectiveness I've been feeling since I learned that I am with child. "Very well, Father. We won't disappoint."

We leave the next day.

It's a hot morning. The sun is blazing above our heads as I talk to my husband one last time before leaving.

"I'll make sure none of your Wisdoms misbehaves," he chirps as he wraps his arms around me as tightly as he could.

I reach forward and kiss him, savoring the warm touch. "And I'll make sure that the child I'm carrying will be safe."

"I know you will," he said, pride in his voice. "Why would I doubt you?"

That elicits a smile from me. "Stop flattering me."

He plants a kiss on my lips. "I've never flattered you, I only say the truth."

I stick my tongue out as I untangle myself from his embrace. "I must go." I give his hand one last squeeze which he returns.

"I will be waiting day and night until I can see you again," he promises me.

I smile and mount Brand. _Well then, my dear dragon, are you ready?_

 _As I should be!_ He spreads his wings and takes to the air, where we join Brom and Saphira.

 _Are you sure that you're both ready for this?_ I ask.

Brom nods, determination on his face _. I still can't believe that he betrayed us. Morzan was like a brother to me!_

I'm not sure if he meant to do it but I feel the excruciating pain of betrayal that he felt. _I'm sorry, Brom._

 _Morzan is the one who should be sorry,_ Saphira interjects, her thoughts a low growl in her head. _He and Galbatorix both._

 _And what about his dragon, Alfara?_ I ask.

Saphira paused, her icy blue gaze sweeping over me briefly as we began to head south and east. _I find it hard to believe that a dragon would consent to this but if she did, then she will have to pay, too._

I nod in approval. _Spoken like a true dragon._

She all but glows with pride, though she tried her best not to let me sense it.

* * *

Ilirea is much, much hotter than Doru Araeba, the summer sun beating down upon every living thing with unabashed cruelty. The dragons love heat, of course, as beings of of fire, but I must admit that I'm starting to feel uncomfortable.

 _This is odd. You've never minded the heat that much before,_ Brand notes in mild amusement.

I sigh and rub my arms in discomfort. I know. _This must be because of my pregnancy. I've heard stories of what it is like when someone is with child._

 _Ash-elda, is something wrong?_ Brom asks as we land right at the outskirts of both the city and the Rider outpost.

I shake my head, smiling. _I'm sure you've heard that I'm pregnant. I'm simply feeling a minor discomfort from it, nothing to worry about_.

He nods grimly and dismounts. _Good to hear. Tell me if you feel anything odd, please._

 _I will, thank you._ I turn to Brand as I also dismount, grinning. _The child has grown, has he not?_

 _He has. And so have you._ Brand nuzzles me before soaring off to hunt with Saphira, leaving me and Brom by ourselves.

I glance at my companion. "Are you ready?"

He steels himself, clenching his fists before resting a hand on the pommel of his blade, Undbitr. There is a grim look on his face when he turns to me, the fire of rage burning in the depths of his dark eyes. "I have to be."

The confusion and distress among the other Riders is evident the moment we step into the outpost. Everyone could not believe the extent of Galbatorix's madness, his new abilities, and the way he was able to sway Morzan - and Alfara - to bend to his whims.

We arrive just after Sidrain's funeral, so the mood is still quite somber as we sit down with the witnesses and hear them all out.

By the end of the next three hours though, we are still in the dark. All everyone knows is that Morzan somehow got in contact with Galbatorix and left a gate open after his patrols, and that he snuck the former Rider into the apprentice quarters.

I am about to give up and call it a day when the last person we are tasked to talk to holds out his hand to stop us. He is the most senior Rider in the outpost, a human named Adranor, short of stature but powerfully built, his dark hair streaked with gray and his dark eyes piercing.

"Master Lorekeeper, please do not be alarmed, but there is something else that the other witnesses did not know - after all, they are not yet senior enough to be entrusted with this..." he trails off, eyes flickering to Brom.

"Go on. I trust this lad," I assure him, wondering what this is about.

"They were able to get into our outpost's Eldunari cache. I have no idea how - Morzan is too new to know of this..." he turns away as he trails off, and I can all but sense the shame he felt for the lapse of security.

Brom tugs at my tunic, curiosity alight in his dark eyes. "Forgive me, Ash-elda, but what is an Eldunari?"

I put my hand on his, shaking my head. "It's best if we talk of the Eldunari later, Brom-finiarel. We must finish our task first."

He opens his mouth as if to object, but he backs down and relents to my utmost relief. He turns back to Adranor. "Did they only break in or did they steal anything?"

"Five and thirty Eldunarya," Adranor says glumly, bowing his head. No wonder he feels shamed. I would be feeling the same way. "That's a quarter of what we were allowed to keep here."

Brom turns to me. "That's... not good, is it, Master?" His hand flies to his head. "Saphira is not pleased."

 _And why would a dragon be pleased to hear of this? The Eldunarya are our most precious, most guarded.._. Brand trails off, and I briefly see him release a jet of fire in the open air. _Knowing Galbatorix, he would be using them for whatever twisted game he's playing._

I try to calm him down despite the outrage I'm also feeling. _Anger will lead us nowhere. Control yourself._

"They would have stolen more if the alarm was not raised," Adranor goes on, clearly emboldened by the fact that there is no outburst from either Brom or me. "They got away, but not without a fight."

"But Sidrain was the only casualty, correct?" I ask him.

He nods. "There were injuries, but nothing fatal. I still worry, Master Lorekeeper. A madman like Galbatorix might use these Eldunarya for his whims."

"I know, and with his dark powers, those whims could be devastating." I bow my head, which is still whirling with so much unwelcome thoughts. "Thank you for your time, Rider Sidrain. Is there anything else you wish to tell me before I dismiss you?"

He pauses, as if thinking. "Nothing - but I want you to know that you have our utmost cooperation, no matter what happens."

"As you should. Very well. I know you are very busy after these... recent events. I have much to discuss with Brom-finiarel." I smile and wait for him to leave before turning to my companion. "I know you have a lot of questions."

"Saphira is already telling me about this... Eldunari." He doesn't look too happy. "If it has a dragon's consciousness in it then it means it also has their strength and..."

"Yes, someone can earn the dragon's cooperation and use the energy stored within them - or someone with dark sorcery may try to bend them to his will and force them to cooperate." I shudder at the thought of my own words. The latter seemed like the most probable outcome when it comes to Galbatorix.

Brom stands up, cheeks turning red with rage. "Then we have to do something - look for them, hunt them down..."

"There's only you and I and our dragons. There's Galbatorix and Morzan and Alfara, maybe even Shruikan, and the power of the Eldunarya they have with them," I point out. "We know not where they are, either."

It does nothing to calm Brom. "Then what would you have us do? Sit around and wait?"

"Calm yourself," I snap, pulling him down to his seat. "Think, lad, think! We can't just go around barelling into fights unprepared. This is what almost got me killed before!"

"I'm not you," he growls.

"This is about Morzan, isn't it?" I point out. "You feel... personally betrayed by him."

He looks away but says nothing. It's enough for me.

I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him. "Look, I want to run after them as much as you do, but we must practice caution. We'll go back to report to Father so we can start the search. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

He gazes at me, dark eyes tormented. He bites his lip so hard that he draws blood. "Very well, Ash-elda. I will wait, as you wish."

* * *

 **Arrrgh, this update took too long to write. Been a little sick and really, really busy in my new job. I have to admit that I don't get paid enough for this.**

 **Anyway, we all know what's coming soon. *coughs* The Fall is coming and a pregnant Ash is going to get caught up in it. We'll be seeing more of Brom and Saphira in the next chapters and a glimpse of Morzan.**

 **Read and review, as always!**


End file.
